


Church of the Country Wild

by Amazonia_8



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cowboy!Dean, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pining Castiel, Pining Dean, Preacher Castiel, Sheriff Dean, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazonia_8/pseuds/Amazonia_8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff Dean Winchester has been sent to Boston to collect the new preacher for his town of Lawrence. What he finds is a man nothing like what he expected and suddenly the long journey back to Kansas seems a lot more dangerous than he'd previously thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I offer no promises of historical accuracy, I just really wanted to write about cowboys n' preachers getting up to no good!

The planks underfoot were slick with sea mist and grime, worn black and shiny, gnarled and frayed at the edges, the bulkheads wet with foam and fish blood, sticky from entrails where salt weathered men used them as tabletops to prep their chum. Jo had waxed poetic about Boston in springtime for weeks and begged Dean daily to tell her everything about the glamorous city when he returned. Watching a ragged group of children swing rats by the tail and whip them at the bobbing ships had him of a mind to plan another trip just so he could watch her face when he deposit her here.

_The Masthead_ was a tavern in concept if not assembly. Dean had never set eyes on a place so patchwork and jerry-rigged in his life. It looked to be that the bother of fitting out any of the regular spots on the dock was just too much effort or cost since the whole of it was barely a single story high and looked to be constructed of torn up planks and the scavenged remains burnt ship parts. There was a liberal use of rope and tar that may have been the only thing holding the roof upright other than prayer. And to top it all off, the whole stinking barnacle of the thing was just crammed right up against the end of the dock row, unconcerned that the wharf had never intended for it to reside there. At least it was easy to find, perhaps that was why the preacher had picked this spot, though he still didn’t know why a regular church or even a boarding house couldn’t have sufficed for their meeting. As he watched the toothless, drunken filth spill into and out of the clapboard shack, he was tremendously glad he hadn’t given into his desire to make it in and out of Boston as quickly as possible by telling the young lady he was due to collect to just meet them here as well. Convenience or no this was no place for a lady, hell it was barely a place for someone like him and that was something to say.

The interior was no better, but at least it was small enough that he shouldn’t have too much trouble picking his man out. He looked over the seamen and dock workers, a few whores, the bored looking slip of a bartender wiping down the slop on the bar and then using the same rag on the glasses. Maybe he wouldn’t indulge just yet. The only option as far as he could see was a wizened old man with frizzy white hair and a yellowing beard sitting primly in a corner sipping at his drink. Part of him laughed while the other part cringed for poor Anna, Lord he hoped her folks weren’t still hell bent on foisting that sweet young girl on the preacher. Watching the trembling wet lips of the man take another sip of his brandy had Dean thanking, not for the first time, whoever had done him the favor of getting him born a man.

As he approached the man with a question in his eyes, it began to occur to him with some relief that this may not be the preacher he was looking for. There was a near insanity of dementia that cracked ugly across the drunk old thing’s face when he smiled up at Dean. He was just about to back off slowly with a relieved apology when the door burst open and a cluster of men tumbled inside in a snarl of fists and feet and flapping coats. It was more inconvenience that put Dean to scowling, he watched and waited for an opening so that he could leave and wait for his quarry outside.

“You’re a dead man preacher!” And that was enough to prick up his ears. From the look of things now, it was five on one, and the unlucky man jumped up, locked onto Dean with the most electric set of blue eyes he’d ever seen and sidled up to him with barely a hint of concern for the angry hulking men that wanted to tear him apart.

“You Winchester?” Dean could only nod. “Got any aversion to fisticuffs?”

Dean just smirked and shook his head, hadn’t reckoned he would get a bit of fun in on this trip and evening out the odds with the skills that made him sheriff always scratched a real good itch.

The preacher just rolled his shoulders and jumped to it, took a moment for Dean to hop in after him, lost as he was in watching a man of the cloth fighting fast and dirty like it was all he’d ever known. He was a sight too, and if the man hadn’t been outnumbered Dean would have taken a shine to kicking back against the bar and appreciating the view. But there was work to do.

They made a heck of a pair and by the time the attackers realized they weren’t gonna win this one, the two of them were bloody and cursing but doing it with matching smiles. That’s when the guns came out, and Dean was smart enough to know that flashing his badge would get him nothing but a gut shot here. So he grabbed the preacher by the wrist and was yelling _Run_ for no particular reason since they were already hightailing it out the door at a considerable pace. His horse was untied and turned by the time the gang had even made it out the door after them. Dean mounted up and was hoisting the preacher behind him in the saddle at the same time he clicked his steed to action. Sinewy arms wrapped around him from behind with surprising strength as they careened too fast down the narrow streets. The hot breath at his neck came out in broken puffs as the man with the blue eyes and a mean left hook laughed gritty in his ear.

“Guess I picked the right time to get out of Boston.”

*

“Your letter said you wasn’t a Catholic!” There hadn’t been an answer to the two short knocks Reverend Novak had rapped on the rectory door, but he stood there all the same as if willing to wait for an answer even if it had to come from God himself.

“I’m not.”

The man that finally answered was so large he couldn’t fit through the frame and didn’t look like he had any intention of doing so. He shoved a battered leather valise into the preacher’s hands and said in a voice somehow impossibly deeper than the man next to him. “God speed Reverend Novak.”

“Thank you Brother Uriel. I will keep you in my prayers.” And there’s a pointed arch to Brother Uriel’s brow that said he might prefer it if he didn’t but the half tug of a smile isn’t lost to either of them as he shuts the door.

Dean returned with the preacher to his inn to collect his things and make use of the time to clean up. And get a better sense of this fellow. Sheriff Winchester knew how to read a man, could tell the history of his work by the way his parts fit together, could see guilt, fear, threat from the twitch of an eyebrow. It weren’t that hard once you got used to doing it, and most folks were so patently basic in their make-up that his lawman swagger at being the most competent person in the room wasn’t a front.

But here he was not two hours into the company of the man he’d come to fetch as Lawrence’s brand new preacher and Dean found himself dizzy with consternation. A preacher was kindly and meek, or stern and brimming with condemnations. He should be wizened or brittle or plump with corruption. This man was none of those things. A titch smaller than Dean, but he damn near filled the room to bursting with his presence, moving about with assurance in a way that put Dean of a mind there was military in his youth. For a man of the church Reverend Novak didn’t seem to have any shyness to him, readily pulled off the dirty layers of his shirt and vest and began to wipe himself down with the water from the wash basin. Dean busied himself with packing, did his best to avert his eyes. He had already noticed too quickly what a fine looking man the reverend was. Wouldn’t do no good to tip the Holy Father off about what a mess of a man he was inside before they’d even made it out of the city. But he couldn’t seem to help it, giving in to a few short glimpses of pale ropes of muscle, sharp cuts of bone and long fingers that made sadly short work of cleaning off the filth of that morning and putting on fresh clothes that had him looking more like a body meant to be behind a pulpit. Dean felt instantly guilty the minute Reverend Novak turned to him with a simple shrug, presenting himself, an indication this was as good as it was going to get. Seemed mighty good to Dean, but that was just one more reason why he wasn’t a decent man. Decent men didn’t turn a lustful eye to the new town preacher.

“You got blood on you.” And Dean looked down at his shirt, not noticing until the last moment that Reverend Novak had moved into his space until he was right there, those long fingers tipping up his face and turning it so he could dab a cool damp rag at the cut to Dean’s cheek, forehead. Those fingers didn’t feel as delicate as they looked and it was getting a mite uncomfortable to notice the train his thoughts started to take. Dean coughed out in embarrassment before shrugging away.

“I’m a sheriff, Reverend. Few little cuts just means I’m doing my job.” The preacher surveys his work with a frown.

“Or you aren’t very good at it.” Dean’s as surprised by the bark of laughter that escapes him as the preacher is, it’s been a while since someone made him laugh like that.

“So you plan on telling me why I got these in the first place? Won’t do no good if I’m bringing in a holy man who’s got demons that need running from.”

Reverend Novak appraised him and sat on the bed with a sigh, gesturing to the worn wicker chair beside him as if these were his rooms and Dean the guest.

“I believe I should be honest about myself to you, I understand wanting to look after your townsfolk and it’s only a credit to you if you wish to give me a thorough inspection before handing me the post.” Dean looked on with an even expression that didn’t hint at just how thorough an inspection he’d like to give the man.

“The man that attacked me, he’s a terrible person, I don’t know the friends he brought but I imagine they’re just as wicked as the company they keep. He sold his own sister, only fed her enough to keep her upright on the docks till someone dragged her to their bed. Beat her something awful too, last time nearly killed her and he actually came to me for help patching her up because he knew he might get locked up for it if anyone else saw what he did. I told him she was real bad off, needed a month at least to get herself healed up, let her stay with me the whole time and told him it would save him money on food and boarding in the long run. Got her a ticket to San Francisco, got a job for her out there with a family I know. Little money, couple clothes, not much but enough for a new start till she got herself sorted out.”

“And let me guess, old boy found out you shipped his sister off and was a bit sore at the loss of income. That why you was hiding out with the Catholics?” Father Novak just shrugs and picks a thread from his pant leg.

“Oh no, I’ve been staying there a while ever since my church burnt down.”

“That ‘nother unhappy relative or an actual act of your God?” Reverend Novak frowned at him then and kept silent for a moment before replying.

“No, I took in a couple of lost souls that most would think….unwholesome, used money from the collection plate to help how I could. My parishioners felt the need to show their displeasure in a rather direct manner.”

“Shit preacher, your own flock burnt up your church?” He watches the other man’s lips thin out as a hard look drops into place, this is the part where he thinks he’s about to be shown the door. “You ‘n me are gonnna get along just fine.”

*

The hotel is simple, the room is simple, but the cherub cheeked woman that shoves a suitcase at each of them is anything but. Her clothes look new, and though not what some might call fancy, have the look of something a wealthy person might choose if they were aiming for plain. Heavy unmarred fabrics in subtle grey with no adornment other than their sheen and spotless hems, the cut modern. Her hair is a glossy dark mass of curls topped with a black lace hat and her lips and cheeks such a delicate red that Dean knows in a moment this tiny thing in front of them hasn’t known a day of hard work in the span of her life.

“There’s got to be a mistake.”

“No mistake, you the Master Winchester that was sent to escort me to Lawrence, Kansas?” Dean can only mutely nod. “Then I assure you I am your charge and I ask you to carry that to the coach. I’ll get the last of it and meet you downstairs.” It’s a dismissal if he ever heard one but still he’s rooted to the spot.

“Miss Masters—“

“Meg”

“Miss Megan—“

“I believe I just said Meg.” _Fine_ said his clenching jaw.

“Meg, all I meant was that the advertisement was quite clear this was an arrangement for a rancher’s wife. That don’t carry the same water as a city wife, ain’t got much flower ‘ranging or tea time out there.” The porcelain skin barely wrinkled as she scowled at him, workin’ on a look of toughness but mostly just proving his point.

“I am under no delusion as to what this arrangement implies. I’m not afraid of hard work, despite what you might gather from my appearance.”

Dean just digs in for the fight, feeling more than a little ridiculous at holding a floral carpet bag while trying to spare a lady’s feelings. The only thing keeping him from relenting is the absolute certainty that if he has to drag her all the way out there only to have her crying uncle he will most likely just strangle her to save himself the return trip.

“Alright then Miss _Meg_ , sayin’ you do have a hand for being a rancher’s wife, Bobby Singer ain’t a pretty young thing like you. Man could be your father on a good day and he’s a hard drinking blue streak cussing sonovabitch if there ever was one. You tellin’ me you want to tuck yourself into bed at night with that grizzled piece of jerky instead of any number of nice young men you must have sniffin’ around your door?”

“You told me in your letter that he was a good man.”

“Well…well he is a good man, nearly raised me an’ my brother at one time.”

“Alright,” She nods hard as if that was that. “He drink to where he can’t work?”

“No.”

“He ever hit his last woman?” Dean pulls up in anger, hell if he was going to let her imply something bad about Bobby. She should be the one passing _his_ inspection.

“No!”

“Well then, seems about right to me. I just got two demands, he turns out to be some lazy sack of shit that won’t work or spends all his time drinking and gambling I’m on the next coach West. And if he ever lays a hand on me in anger I’ll string him up with the laundry and fill him with lead. You got that?”

“Sounds fair to me.” Dean shot Reverend Novak a look, silent up till now and this is what he thinks to contribute?

“Well don’t come crying on your wedding night!” Is all he can think to shout as he stomps down the hall.

The coach is waiting, Garth just nodding with a wide grin as they clamber inside. By the time they make it out of Boston Dean is fretting over what they’ll say when they see what he’s bringing home.

“Got a proper lady with ten pounds of crinoline wantin’ to be a rancher’s wife and preacher that gets into dock fights as a matter of principle. Remind me never to go to Boston if I’m looking to buy a horse.”

*

By the time they decide to stop for the night on the second day, Dean’s already made up his mind that he can’t stand another day cooped up in that coach. It’s not just that it’s crowded, not just that he’s more accustomed to the open freedom on the back of a horse, it’s that the Reverend Novak is driving him slowly insane. It was a wicked thing for God to build a man so tempting, so beautiful yet masculine, every piece fit for sin and then make him also _good_ , wrap him in vestments and ask the world not to touch.

Reverend Novak doesn’t offer much about himself, but what he does speaks to a man who came up from nothing but the skin on his back to grit his way down a path he deemed righteous when everyone else mocked and abused him for offering more than lip service to the work of his Lord. Dean’s seen too many cowards and thieves in his day to know just how rare a thing that is and he never had any intention of caring what kind a man their new preacher would be, long as he didn’t cause trouble, but now he feels a hard little kernel of what might be admiration. Lot of despicable men who kneel before a cross but Reverend Novak wasn’t one of them.

Meg was a firecracker, he could already tell that, seemed to be running from something to do with family, took it as a personal mission to sass sharper than a two dollar whore but she was educated, as was Reverend Novak, and the unlikely pair seemed to hit it off. So they settled right quick into an easy banter that can only come when a man and a woman know there’s nothing but friendship between them. Dean didn’t have much to contribute to the conversation, shooting outlaws and stringing up cattle thieves not being ideal topics, so he just kicked back and took in fifty miles worth of crinkle eyed smiles, smoky laughs falling from full pink lips. Got to brush thigh to thigh with the man in the sway of the coach, got to track long fingers as they absently mussed his already wild hair.

Dean had always known he weren’t right inside, that there was a reason he tended to pick younger whores, not cause he liked the age, but cause they usually came in a more boyish package. It had come to him pretty quick that he wasn’t bound to get what he wanted in life. There had been one time in his youth fumbling with the blacksmith’s son, and another time he almost got himself killed by a man he should have thought twice about trying to seduce. Then one day he’d been at his father’s side on another run when they came across a town with two bloated bodies swinging from the cemetery tree. He recalled most the look of the crows watching him when they’d asked after their crimes. The old caretaker had said they’d been _abominations_ that lay together with Satan and could have corrupted the local youth, then he spat on the ground. That had shaken Dean up real bad back then, he wasn’t yet a full man and didn’t yet have the quick draw or hard muscle he did now to get himself out of a spot like that. It was years before he found that a body could be had without much fuss if he was far enough from home and nobody exchanged names. But he never felt better afterward, no matter how bad the need had been, just more hollow, the hunger deeper than a few short moments behind a barn once a year could feed. So at some point he just stopped.

It was okay for the most part, benefit of being so far out west was that there were precious few men pleasing enough to catch his eye. And he had his set up at home that was enough to keep the mothers from sending ‘round their daughters. But Christ Almighty this was looking like a tight spot. He dozed at one point, slumped against the window and dreamt in a sudden flash that he and the preacher were alone in the coach, mile after mile with the shades drawn and the steady rocking easing Dean in and out of the blue eyed Reverend beneath him. Catching soft moans with his mouth and then traveling down to scrape his lips against the dark stubble, licking a bead of sweat from the column of his throat. And that voice, fuck that sinful voice that shot straight to his cock pleading his name. _Dean, Dean, Dean_.

“Dean!” Meg kicked his shin and he shot up, almost reaching for his gun before he remembered where he was. He’d slouched down so far his legs were firmly tangled with the preacher’s, who was blushing hard and doing his best not to look Dean in the eye. “Sweet dreams, sheriff?”

“W-what?” It was none too graceful the way he tried to right himself and disengage his limbs from the other man’s.

“You were moaning in your sleep and we weren’t sure if it was the good kind or the bad kind but either way there are respectable people present.” Meg was smirking at him through her feigned indignation, like she knew exactly what kind it was and that was when he knew he had to get the hell out of this box for the rest of the trip.

Sunset they broke camp, Miss Meg insisting on putting up her own tent while Dean and Father Novak watched in amusement from the fire. Garth was scurrying around behind her, terrified to leave a lady to such work but even more terrified of the lady herself as she cursed him and threw sticks any time he tried get near enough to help. Dean pulled out his flask and took a long pull, handing it over to the preacher where he stretched out beside him.  Father Novak was staring at him again, Dean noticed he did that, locked eyes and didn’t relent as if he was determined to work out what made him tick by look alone. It should be unnerving but the fire it lit in Dean’s belly matched up pretty nice with all the other ways this preacher made him hot. He watched the man take a long pull, throat bobbing tight and a single trail of amber liquid running from the corner of his mouth. He put the flask down and caught the bead with his thumb, dragging it up to suck the whiskey from the pad. Dean’s eyes caught all of it, transfixed, and he had to think fast when the preacher caught him staring.

“So I take it you don’t have too much against the sin of liquor?” His voice sounded strained even to his own ears.

“Sinning makes us human Dean, everything in moderation.”

“I’d be mighty curious to see what other kinds of sinning you got up to then, Reverend.” This was dangerous ground, Dean damn well knew it. He was two inches from flirting, but shit he just couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was alright, he told himself, new preacher and all, no harm. Reverend Novak would just think he was poking fun, just the swaggering town sheriff trying to make friendly with his new neighbor.

“Castiel.” He’s blushing again and just for a moment Dean allowed himself to imagine the preacher might be ok with a little flirting. “I like my friends to call me Castiel. But I’d appreciate it if we kept it Reverend when inside the church.”

Dean reached over and took back the flask, letting his fingers brush just a little too long. “Don’t need to worry about that Cas, can’t remember the last time I found need to step inside a church.” He took a pull of his own and now it’s his turn to catch Reverend – _Castiel -_ staring.

That night he sleeps fitful, tossing on his bedroll and dreaming of Castiel beating the shit out of a hundred, a thousand faceless thugs. Whirling like a dervish and then crashing into him, getting all tangled up, getting fingers into ribs and thighs fit tight into groins until everything has fallen away and it’s just rolling hot skin to slip against and wet mouths dark and twisting into each other. Filthy, sentient tongues lapping greedy and making all the decisions. Desperate voices begging for God when they really mean _Cas_ , _Dean_. And when he wakes it’s with the blistering chafe of his erection rubbing against cotton and wool. Dean knows he was a heartbeat away from saying Castiel’s name out loud, he can still taste it sharp on his tongue where it butts against his teeth. The sun is a ways yet from rising, but he hears it then, his own name whispered in the dark beside him. And it’s a terrible moment when he thinks he’s done it again, moaned in his sleep and telegraphed his dreams so that the preacher has the shameful task of rousing him. He’s almost sure that Cas would be able to see it somehow, pick out the exact image of his thoughts from his head. But the man is still asleep, tossing gently with a crease on his brow, saying it again, then again. _Dean_.

He shouldn’t, he really, really shouldn’t. But his hand doesn’t pay him any mind, reaching out across the space between them to hover, conflicted. He could count the heartbeats that fill his chest as he tries to talk himself out of it, hard insistent booms that echo _don’t don’t don’t_. It’s too late, thumb pressed gently to the high arch of Castiel’s cheekbone, fingertips feather light along his jaw. He run his thumb softly along the skin, taking in the change in texture as it goes from clean to stubble, running back up then down again. He already hates himself for this stolen caress, he already wants more.

Just as his fingers begin to itch with the desire to grab, take, Castiel moans and arches up into his touch, still asleep, and nearly undoes him when he murmurs out _oh Dean_. Dean rips his hand away and jumps up to flee into the dark.

And he’s an indecent man headed straight to Hell, never had a problem being honest with himself. Dean _wants_ that man, wants him bad, and perhaps in some way, however small, Cas wants him too. It was thrilling and at the same time terrifying. They had a long road to Lawrence but that didn’t mean he had to give in, it wouldn’t be right. He could spend the days separate on his horse, exchange pleasant words in the company of their companions and keep it civil until he got the preacher safely tucked into the parish in Lawrence. He had to kill this before it grew; there wasn’t a single thing about his attraction that would end well for either of them. But a little dark corner of his mind had already made its choice. He was curious to see which one would win out by the time they all made it home.


	2. Chapter 2

The spring mornings dawned gentle out here, soft with cool breezes and the whickering of the horses. Castiel rolled over to see that Dean had already risen and was nowhere to be seen, just like every morning. The Sheriff didn’t seem to sleep much and he wondered if that was a condition of his profession. He ignored the familiar disappointment at another missed chance to see what the man’s face looked like asleep and peaceful in the watery dawn. He sighed into the wide open sky above him and prayed for clarity.

Castiel had been under no such self-delusions that this new start out west would last. He didn’t mention it to Sheriff Winchester when he’d replied to the advertisement for the post, but he had only ever intended to give himself a year in Lawrence. He’d traveled up and down the coast before, moved from parish to parish and had come to believe the Methodists might just have had the right idea all along. He’d always wondered at their insistence to move on after a few short years, but now he saw the benefit. Stay too long and they start to see past the pulpit to the man, see the ideals being taught might be hard to follow, might take some actual work beyond a clean dress on Sunday and singing oft repeated hymns. God’s work was dirty, backbreaking stuff and he’d found that most people occupying his pews didn’t have the stomach for it. For that he could blame them soundly for the disgust he felt after too long in their company.

But the _other_ reason, the thoughts that whispered at night, he could blame no one for those but himself. Was it a sin of pride, that he contented himself with the belief that his piety would have always led him to the church? Perhaps, pride wasn’t new to him. Slothfulness, too, for the way he steadfastly found such self-examinations too much effort to endure. He _would_ have been a preacher, he was sure of it, even if the bodies he imagined pressed to him in the dark had soft curves and sweet powdery perfumes. He did not want to think himself a coward, for a coward was not up to the tasks that he had set for himself and if that was gone, what did he have left?

Dean Winchester. Why couldn’t he have been the man he’d pictured? An old, paunch bellied sheriff of a dust stained speck of a town. Slow witted and suspicious but easy enough to placate with Castiel’s always impeccable manners. And maybe he had asked the sheriff to meet him at the docks because he knew what to expect, knew that the man would come all the way out here to collect him and wouldn’t likely turn him away, but that the sight of a scuffle might set the gears to turning. Ease the way once Castiel gave his notice in twelve months’ time.  What was he supposed to do with this golden idol, a devil’s deal made flesh to smile cocky at him and tease and turn him inside out with naked lust? The moment, the very beating moment he’d laid eyes on the man before he was sure of him, his mind shouted _TEST_ , for surely this was nothing if not God tempting him directly with every one of his slippery desires.

 _You Winchester?_ Of course he was. So spake God, so it came to pass.

He nearly tore his hair out in the coach, how was he to endure weeks of this? But at least one of his prayers was answered when the man decided traveling outside on horseback was more to his taste. They’d been making slow steady progress for a week now. Castiel knew everything superficial about his new companion Miss Meg and nothing of the real woman. She was clever and knew it and seemed to take some joy in confounding everyone with her motivations for what looked to be a marked step down in social standing. But she made him smile and he found her brusqueness refreshing. Dean on the other hand, Dean did not make him feel refreshed. Watching him made Castiel’s skin feel tight, he wanted to reach out and pull away at the same moment. The man had such an easy assuredness and yet, at night when they stretched out beside each other next to the fire, Castiel found a man conflicted, a good man that appeared wholly unaware of his own goodness, convinced of the opposite, in fact. It always made Castiel feel a bit sad, talking to him in the dark, taking confession from a man too afraid to call it such. Every morning he woke hard and throbbing from dreams filled with green eyes and white teeth and calloused hands rooting out his secrets.

This morning was the same, and for once Castiel agreed to give into his body’s pleas. But not here. They’d camped beside a stream and he followed it now into the trees. It was much cooler here in the shade, Castiel found a quiet spot hidden from view and sunk to the ground, fumbling with his pants. He hissed at the shock of cold air as he pulled his aching cock from the confines of his trousers. He pulled a few long strokes along the length, squeezing his eyes shut at the pressure and letting his head fall back against the uneven bark behind him. It had been so long, this would be over quick but that was what he wanted, take the edge off before anyone knew he was missing. He didn’t reproach himself too much for the face he pictured now, he wasn’t so pious as that. Stupid gorgeous sheriffs with their rolling, bowlegged gate that suggested so much more. Summer green eyes that were hard then pleading then filled with playful mischief in turn. Damn it, damn it all and his… _ahh_ … his…his…

Castiel spent sticky and hot over his hand, prizing his eyes open as he breathed heavy. The creek  gurgled a few paces away, and if he needed to wash he might as well bathe. Stripping down, Castiel dashed into the frigid water, diving under and letting out a shocked hoot when he broke the surface.

“Cas?” He snapped his head around to the bend in the stream. Wading through the waist high water, came Dean, morning sun breaking gold across his skin, smile breaking beautiful across his face. Castiel immediately ducked into the water, sinking to his neck to…what hide? He jumped up immediately at the cold. Dean laughed.

“No need to be modest, ain’t got nothin’ I haven’t seen.” Dean was getting closer, and it was only the combined efforts of the cold murky water and his recent release that allowed him to manage enough control over his body at the sight of the sheriff naked and dripping that he didn’t run for the safety of the trees.

“Good morning Dean, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Not intrudin’, route we’re taking it’ll be another week yet before we stop at a proper town. Gotta get washed up where we can. Got some soap up there if you’d like.”

“Why yes, thank you.” Dean grinned and splashed his way back toward the bend. Castiel really shouldn’t follow. It was…it would surely be a mistake, but his legs seemed to move on their own as the current played accomplice, tugging him around the bend in time to see Dean wading to the shallows and up to the shore. The water line slipped down him like a sheet, revealing in quick inches the strong muscled back, the round curve of his ass, thighs, calves. It was like one revelation after another, everything laid before him, Dean the lotus and the lotus-eater both, tempting oblivion. There was a bit of surprise when he turned and saw that Castiel had followed him, but no modesty. In fact Dean just sauntered back, soap in hand and not a stitch on him but a playful smirk. Castiel began to pray.

They took turns lathering and dunking in the creek, laughing when one of them would slip on the rocks, splashing about and teasing each other good-naturedly.

“Careful Cas! You’re like to get me accidentally baptized!” Castiel frowned down at the current beneath them.

“Something tells me we’ll need more water than this to wash away all your transgressions.” Dean threw his head back, startling a few grouse to flight with his laughter.

“You’re probably right about that, also would be a shame to go to all that trouble when I’ll only get sinned up again in a week.” They settled into an amiable silence, now was a time if any to return to the shore, but neither of them seemed to want to be the one to end it. “You’re really gonna like Lawrence, Cas. We got a real pretty river out there, got a great spot for swimming I can show you. Fishing, too. And the folks there are all pretty decent, can’t say you’ll get everyone through your church doors, but they’ll treat you good.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But I’m afraid there is one issue that I see. I have no idea how to fish.”

“What?” Dean slapped his forehead in pretend shock. “Your daddy never taught you to fish?”

Castiel licked his lips and sighed, “I’m afraid he died when I was an infant. My mother sent me to a boarding school once I was old enough. They taught me Latin but very little about fishing.” Dean’s smile dissolved and Cas felt terrible about it, he didn’t ever want to be the cause of fading that brightness. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me Dean, I had a very good childhood considering. I liked the school my mother put me in, I excelled there. And I’ve seen more than a few parents who did their children no favors with their presence.” Dean’s not looking at him anymore, staring down the line of the creek at something Castiel can’t see.

“Well you’re right about that.” And his voice trails along, and Castiel knows his thoughts have drifted to his own parents. He can see there’s a story there but doesn’t feel that now’s the time to pry. The happy spell of earlier is gone and Castiel shivers hard, giving them just the reason to drag themselves back to their respective patches of shore.

Garth has coffee on and breakfast well under way. Meg stalks up to them, annoyed.

“Took you two long enough! You’re not the only ones that need to wash, though you defiantly need it the most.” Dean just grins at her.

“Could’ve always joined us Miss Meg. I’m sure the preacher here could have washed your backside _and_ kept your virtue intact.” She just snorted at him.

“The very last thing that’s a threat to my virtue is the two of you.”

Dean just tipped his hat at her, “Afraid it’s a bit cold out there, my apologies we couldn’t fit a lady’s bath in the coach.” Meg just turned up her nose and headed for the trees.

“Cold water never bothered me, just keep to the camp and make sure that idiot over there doesn’t burn the coffee.”

They didn’t have much to say to each other as they took their breakfast by the fire, but their eyes caught and they both shared a laugh at Meg’s surprised shriek piercing the air.

*

Dean had planned the route back to be the same as the one they’d taken out here, straight a shot home as he could get while considering the needs of the coach. He hated being away so long, convinced the whole town would be razed and Sammy bleeding out in the town square from some band of marauders that he had been absent to prevent. He knew Sam was more than capable, Bobby, Rufus, even most of the women, he knew that, but it didn’t ever sit well when he was gone. He felt responsible for them all. So it never occurred to him that he might regret this decision.

They didn’t stop in a single location that might be called a town for those first two weeks, not that it would have been impossible, but Dean wanted none of the distractions that a general store and a saloon full of entertainment could provide, just miles under the wheels dawn to dusk. Castiel offered no complaint and Garth, well hell Garth had never sat still long enough to know what it felt like not to be traveling most days, but Miss Meg, poor thing was near to biting anyone’s head off that got too near. Dean would have felt sorry for her if part of him also didn’t keep thinking _serves you right_. Most folks making such a trip could have reasonably expected some sort of respite in civilization from time to time, but Dean had to figure that anyone trekking half way across this country to be a rancher’s wife wouldn’t bat an eye at a little hard travel. She tried to hold her tongue, she really did, but it was clear this one wasn’t accustomed to suffering anything in silence for long, pride be damned.

“Garth!” She pounded on the roof of the coach, startling Castiel from his reverie. “Garth you skinny imbecile stop this coach!” Castiel knew from the whistle that pierced the air that the only reason he hadn’t immediately obeyed the terrifying woman was he feared the sheriff more. Dean pulled up alongside and leaned in as they continued to canter along at a leisurely clip.

“Problem Miss?” Castiel considered how often the sheriff must get away with murder on that charm and smile alone.

“How long do you expect us to get tossed around in this thing before we make it to an actual city?” She was smiling but her words dripped venom and Castiel sent a silent prayer for this Bobby Singer waiting in blissful ignorance for his bride.

“Three more days, maybe four.” It was a challenge coated in honey but Meg was either immune or so beyond irritated it had no effect.

“And is there something closer to this spot?” She narrowed her eyes, willing to see his challenge and raise him.

“Sure, got Tully not far off, but it’s out of our way a bit and probably lacking some of the niceties you might be expecting.” Castiel was fascinated, he’d never seen two more stubborn people try to sway each other with sweetly veiled spite. Someone should be betting money on this.

“I don’t need much, just a day with a real bed and a real bath and a meal you didn’t scrape off the wheels of this glorified coffin.” Dean laughed, the same full, boyish laugh he gave to Castiel but it felt like an insult directed at Meg.

“Garth!” The coach immediately halted, Dean never breaking eye contact with Meg. “You sure you’re not just getting some wedding jitters _Miss_?” Meg pursed her lips and leaned toward the window, voice low and even.

“Hardly, in fact your Mr. Singer is far more likely to be nervous of me than I am of him.” The hiccup of Garth’s laugh could be taken as his agreement but the two of them ignored it. “You will stop in Tully and allow me a day to collect myself or so help me I will shoot you in your sleep and drive this thing there myself.”

Dean had his retort at the ready, just itching to see what it would do to her expression, when he was struck with a sudden bolt of realization.

A day in town was one more day in Castiel’s company.

Somewhere along the way a clock had started ticking in his head, soft enough to go almost unnoticed. Every time they shared a laugh, danced around each other as they went about putting up camp or breaking it down a voice whispered _how many more times?_ They were out in wide open spaces but often enough found themselves crowded against each other, small touches over shared labor, Dean watching the preacher when he wasn’t looking, holding his gaze when he was. He had begun to think of Lawrence as an end, a place that stood in physical monument to the conclusion of whatever beautiful, exhilarating thing this journey had become. Every day he grew closer to the preacher, learning of the flawed, passionate, endearingly innocent man that seemed in turns both iron willed and unbending in his convictions yet open and curious about the world around him. And he seemed fascinated with Dean. Where he’d come from, how he got to be in the place he was today. Things he enjoyed, things he dreamed. It felt, at times, that under the steely, unmoving gaze Dean was being taken apart, each piece evaluated and turned over in careful hands, appreciated. It was addictive, no one had ever lavished that kind of attention on him. Cas didn’t just seem in awe of the badge or titillated by the life of hunting hard men and bedding soft women. He wanted to know Dean past all that, and he showed no signs of flinching from what he found.

Tully was tiny but serviceable, getting there would be a day off trail in either direction. So three more days with Cas by his side, under his protection. It wasn’t easy to admit, but filling the preacher’s canteen, hunting for him, setting up their bed rolls by the fire and telling him stories of his family and home under the stars, passing the warmth of a flask until the man fell asleep beside him, it felt like _providing_. And he liked it. He liked it a great deal and he was being asked to give it up, hand the good preacher over to the town for their keeping and he knew what that meant. They would blanket him with their curiosity and good-will, they would spirit him away to dinners and picnics and functions for newly appointed church groups their previous preacher had been too old to maintain. But Castiel was young and strong and charming, he knew those folks would just fall over themselves to welcome him and Dean’s private little audience would end.

“Garth, looks like we’re heading to Tully.”

*

The sun was dropping from its midday zenith when the coach abruptly stopped. There had been no word from Dean nor Garth, no mention of camp or yell to the horses and for some reason the silence that followed stood Castiel’s hair on end. Meg sensed it too, the good mood that had seen her chittering away like a canary for the last few hours fading out, words dying on her lips. Not even the animals moved. Castiel leaned toward the window.

Dean was perched on his horse, back straight as an arrow and focusing all his concentration towards the woods to their left. His right hand moved so slowly it was almost invisible, a creeping spread of fingers seeking out the purchase of the gun handle that must be hidden somewhere under his duster.

Then Castiel heard it. A woman’s scream.

He was out the door of the coach and headed for the treeline before he even realized what he was doing. A hand gripped his arm tight and pulled him back hard, spinning him so he nearly fell into the solid mass of the sheriff’s chest. But Dean didn’t let go, leaned in close, lips brushing Castiel’s ear.

“ _What the hell are you doing_?” He whispered in a tight growl. This close Castiel could feel the heat of him, his body shifting against the preacher, cheeks scraping against each other. No one could hear them, but Dean curled around Cas as if protecting a secret, and Cas pretended the fraction of a motion, a tilt of the head over and up to put his own lips in line with Dean’s ear to whisper back was nothing more than a means to reply. With no one to see, there was no one to guess how thrilling it felt to him with the skin of his throat exposed and batted gently under the steady panting of Dean’s breath, only a hair away.

“Just listen.”

  _Move away,_ he hissed at himself _. Move away Castiel_.

But he was held fast, by Dean’s unmoving hand that only clenched a little tighter, by the rise and fall of his breath that was willing to take the blame for the way their chests brushed then pressed. Brushed then pressed. Every nerve was alive and he couldn’t be at all sure what his body would decide to do in the next moment if left unchecked.

The cry came again. Castiel stepped away.

“Do you hear that? It’s pain but not panic.” It was true, the voice was bleating low, throaty and gut deep, but none of the shrill high notes of someone under immediate attack, someone fighting or fleeing. Castiel had worked with the suffering enough to know the difference. This person needed help, and not the kind that came barreling in with guns drawn. He motioned as much to Dean and then crept silently through the trees, cautious but steady.

He almost didn’t see the man until he heard the sharp intake of Dean’s breath, closer behind him than he’d realized, and there he was. Castiel had nearly walked right into him. The man was young but strongly built and stood so unmoving against the tree he nearly melted into it. The straight black hair at his crown was tied back, his skin warm dark honey in color with a jagged scar running shoulder to hip diagonally across his whole naked torso. It drew Castiel’s eyes down to fall on the handle of a neatly fashioned hatchet, held akimbo but not at rest. He could practically feel Dean reach for his holster, he chanced a quick glance back and shook his head with pleading eyes.

The cry came again, long and low and broken at the end. The young Indian clenched his jaw, he refused to look in her direction, trying to conceal, protect.  Trying to….

Castiel understood in a moment.

“Dean, put your gun on the ground, and let him see it.”

“Not a godamned chance in –“

“ _Put your fucking gun down Winchester_!” He hissed through his teeth, never breaking eye contact with the young man. Dean moved to stand beside him and slowly did as he was instructed. “Good, now I want you to back up slowly, then go to the coach and get blankets, medicine, anything we have. And bring Meg.”

“Cas!” He was trying to pull the preacher’s focus but Castiel was intent on remaining locked onto the young man, hands now raised in open supplication.

“Dean he’s protecting his family. That woman sounds like she’s in labor and my guess is they’re alone. Go to the coach, get the supplies and bring Meg. No weapons.” He still wasn’t leaving, Castiel could feel the conflict warring within the man at the thought of leaving him unarmed with a savage. When it seemed like he would never go, even as the cries from the woman continued to puncture the air, Castiel turned the full weight of his attention on the Sheriff, giving him a small smile. “Please Dean.”

That seemed to be enough. One minute he was there, the next he was a crunch of hurried footsteps fading behind him. Castiel turned to his attention back to the youth.

“We want to help.”

 The young man said nothing, expression unchanged. Castiel had to assume he didn’t speak any English and prayed that somehow he could get through enough to convince the man to let him help. Castiel slowly rolled up his sleeves, then pulled his shirttails from his trousers. He unbuttoned his vest and held it carefully open, then lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal the bare skin of his stomach, turning in a slow circle. Next each pant leg was drawn up until he returned his hands to their place in the air, hoping that was enough to make the man understand he wasn’t armed. The Indian made no change of posture, no flicker of expression, just held Castiel’s gaze in perfect stillness, prepared to move at a moment’s notice if he should present a threat.

The seconds ticked on, broken only with the sound of the leaves and the woman’s unvarying cries somewhere farther off in the trees. Castiel could feel every bead of sweat as it rolled down his neck to catch on his collar, he could smell the damp leaves and feel the give of the earth beneath him but this young man seemed totally unaffected, a phantom. Echoes, whispers in the trees, and Castiel wondered for a moment if he was hallucinating, if the elders of this young man’s tribe were speaking to them, warning, arguing….cursing.

_Stupid motherfucking son of……_

Dean…with Meg. It was difficult to figure which of them was cursing a blue streak. Then they were there and Meg had a hand on her hip like this was an uninvited guest to her tea.

“Who’s he?” For the first time there was something of a reaction in the Indian, a narrowing of the eyes, a tilt of the head. Castiel took the bundle of supplies from Dean with one hand and took Meg’s in his other. Pulling her along Castiel stopped as close to the young man as he dared, holding up his offering and nodding in the direction of the cries. The Indian dragged a long look over both of them then nodded, looked over their shoulders at Dean and shook his head once.

“Dean, go wait for us back at the coach.”

“What!?” The lady and the Sheriff were unanimous. But he didn’t wait, just pulled Meg along firmly and followed the Indian into the trees, turning back one last time to cast a warning glance at Dean.

*

Castiel had insisted on Meg’s presence not for the sake of having a woman attend to the matter of a birth, he wasn’t so daft as to assume she knew how to handle something like this. No, he wanted the new mother to find solace in a female face. So he was a bit surprised to see there were already other women there. The domed hut was obviously the last of what had once been a village, the rest of the tribe likely moving on and this little family unable to follow. Outside the hut was a youth of perhaps sixteen, so sun browned and skinny it took a moment for Castiel to realize this was a girl. She cast shining black eyes on the guests that held every bit of cold evaluation he had seen in the young man. She led them inside where the darkness revealed the interior slowly. The woman was indeed in labor, panting on a bed of furs, beside her sat an old woman with milky white eyes and very few teeth. The cataracts and the gnarled roots of her hands meant she was not of any real assistance, Castiel wondered if she was fully blind.

He’d attended more than a few births. People too poor to pay a doctor or midwife, looking to the charity of the church, as if those occupations might be interchangeable. Mostly he attended women that were very unlikely to survive the ordeal. But he was never one to stand by silent and found himself assisting with most of them. He couldn’t do much if anything went wrong, but he knew the basics.

She was very young, this child her first, and the pain had robbed her of any real care as to who they were or why these strangers were in her home. Castiel directed Meg to sit beside her and the moment she did the woman grabbed her hand and didn’t let go. Blessedly, the old woman knew a few words of English, was able to get Catiel’s basic instructions through. It would be hours yet.


	3. Chapter 3

_Fuck him. Fuckhimfuckhimfuckhim._

Dean couldn’t stay by the fire, but couldn’t get near the trees. Twice he’s tried to slip in and track them, just so he could be sure he – they – were alright. But both times the Indian had stopped him, sending him back with no more than a shake of his head. This was ridiculous, he hunted outlaws, he’d tangled with bigger men, men armed with actual guns and always came out on top. He could take this one asshole any day of the week. But the man had Cas. Well didn’t _have_ him, Cas had walked off with him of his own free will and just thinking about it now set Dean’s teeth to grinding. So he paced, over and over in the limbo between the fire and the trees. Whisky wasn’t helping, besides he needed to stay sharp. Garth was smart enough to hold his tongue and had fallen asleep hours ago. The only thing keeping him sane was the woman’s wails, constant and reassuring in the dark. Her suffering was a relief, if she was there, so was Cas.

By dawn, he was a wreck. He’d checked his ammo countless times, he’d prepped his horse, he was minutes, seconds away from tearing into the woods and hauling Castiel out over his shoulder. He was wound so tight that when he saw them dragging out of the trees toward the camp covered in blood, he ran. He grabbed the preacher, spun him, ran his hands over him looking for injuries. He would have stripped him to check if it had not been for Meg.

“I’m fine, too. Thanks.” She trudged over to the fire and collapsed in her tent.

“It’s a boy.” And the preacher had the audacity to smile at him, tired eyed and rough voiced but _happy_. Dean was in shock, how could he be fucking happy? Didn’t he know that last night had been hell? Didn’t he know what he’d just put him through? Cas was heading for his bed roll, but suddenly Dean was furious. He seized the man’s arm none too gently and dragged him around to the side of the coach, away from prying eyes. Had him pinned to the door, he was shaking him by the shoulders and he couldn’t seem to stop. Castiel’s eyes widened with surprise, terrible, unearthly blue pulling him down, drowning him.

“Don’t you ever fucking do something like that again, do you hear me?! _Never_ Cas, never do that to me again!”

“Dean?”

His hands drifted up to cup the preacher’s face, he couldn’t even remember doing it. Dean pressed his forehead against the other man’s, crowding into him as if he could keep him there, prevent him from ever running off again. Tension thrummed through him, singing along his nerves and threatening to snap, but still he didn’t move, he could tell himself the line hadn’t yet been crossed even as he stood on its back and trampled it beneath his feet.

“Please Cas, please don’t do this to me.”

Was he still talking about last night? It was impossible to tell, a cyclone of heat spun through him, around him, slicing paper thin razors of desire into his soft tissue. His whole body demanded its share, every part of him wanted to know a portion of Castiel. Fingers staked the senior claim, already tracing his temples, sliding up to tangle in the wild mass of hair. The thickness of it brushing the webbing between them felt incredible. Dean had never been a sensuous man, pleasure was blunt and fulfilled quickly and in the dark. But caging this angel in his arms, feeling him tremble and fist the cloth of his shirt, it was insidious how quickly this closeness, this simple touch intoxicated him. He squeezed his fingers, gripping fistfuls of those dark locks and shifted Cas’ head back so that it bumped the door of the coach with a soft thud.

Castiel moaned. A gritty strand of sound that shot through Dean’s core. Eyes half lidded, glittering like gemstones where Cas peered up from beneath his lashes, mouth pink and slack. He was so fucking ripe and gorgeous, the anger was shifting, the tension and exhaustion was all funneling down, pushing hard and forcing its way into the only space available, his pulsing, living _need_ of Castiel. And it took no effort at all to see that he was not alone in this feeling. They panted against each other, neither able to make the move, it was too much. Just standing at the edge of this abyss was overwhelming. Dean felt like he’d stopped breathing, even as his chest rose and fell violently. Castiel’s eyes ticked rapidly over his face, frantic and searching, hands twisting the shirt they gripped until he was pulling Dean closer, closer…

God to taste, just to taste this one ti-

“Sheriff?”

_Damnit_ , they were gonna find Garth’s body in a shallow grave.

Dean wanted to scream, he tried to let go, back off, but he just couldn’t. Both men were pulling unsteady breaths, panic setting their heartbeats even faster. He could hear Garth’s steps getting closer from the other side of the coach, yet his stupid arms wouldn’t release Cas, the man was tense and shaking like a snared rabbit and Dean just pushed closer, holding him, trapping him. Fuck, why couldn’t he just let go?

“Havin’ a private word with the preacher, just be a minute!” Every molecule in their orbit stopped, frozen in the anticipation of what Garth would do next. It took an eternity. One step, then two, then the succession as Garth heeded the dismissal and turned back to the camp.

Both men sighed, deflating in unison. All except Dean’s hands which refused to give up their claim in Cas’ hair.

“ _Dean!_ ”

“Yeah…..yeah.” He let his arms fall. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m…..sorry.”

Castiel was burning through him with that look. He felt so ashamed, so terrified, so fucking alive with want. Jesus he was a monster. What had he just done?

Castiel slipped past him, twisting away to hurry back to the camp. Dean just stood there, leaning into the vacant space, pressing his forehead against the rough exterior of the door.

What the fuck had he just done?

*

Coming into Tully was a relief to everyone. The mood had been strange to say the least. Meg and Castiel hadn’t shared a single word the whole way. He could guess at the nature of her thoughts, he didn’t expect she’d ever had direct contact with either the natives or the gruesome realities of birth. But she didn’t seem unsettled, just contemplative, he might even call it serene and it was one more reason he didn’t think he’d ever have this woman figured out.

His own thoughts took on a shape exactly opposite to serene. What was he to do? This attraction to the Sheriff Winchester had moved beyond impure thoughts that jostled their sharp corners in his mind. He didn’t just have to watch his breathing around the man, didn’t just have to keep his need to stare in check lest the man find the thread into his own unholy desires.

It had happened so fast, one moment it was all fantasy and dream, and the next the man was standing there, real and potent and _wanting him back_. How had that even happened? That he might find a man attractive was nothing new, he’d created the tools to manage these feelings. But to be so laid bare by a desire this forceful, and to have that sentiment returned, to find terror in your own body knowing you no longer possess control, it was more than he could handle. He would have kissed Dean, he knew that with the same clarity that told him the interruption had saved him and he should be grateful for it.

He was not grateful.

As Dean had said, Tully was small, barely a handful of buildings at the center with homesteads scattered out at the fringes. But there was a saloon that doubled as the hotel and it was here that they were deposited. Garth took the bags down and followed Castiel and Meg inside to retain rooms, Dean taking the coach and horses around to the stable. He refused to look at Castiel, his body hunched, muscles drawn tight as Castiel watched him drive down the street.

He hurried to his room, determined to stay there until tomorrow. Maybe then it would all be forgotten. Or sorted out. A little separation was best, this was still salvageable. They could take a moment, realize the folly of whatever this….infatuation was, and commit to themselves that it would never move beyond what it already had. They were men with lives that did not need such a complication. He would tell Dean as much tomorrow, after they’d all got a good night’s rest. The sheriff was a reasonable man, he was certain they could come to some neutral ground.

The room was simple but comfortable, and clean at least. Castiel could hear the voices in the bar downstairs, there was nothing else to do in this town so it seemed everyone in the vicinity gathered here. He sat, he stood, he looked out the window, sat again. An hour was filled with such broken activity, a few pages read, clothes put away, then returned for it was only one night after all. Pacing, standing still, pushing out his thoughts then letting them flood. Prayer, silent then out loud. His faith was ragged enough he doubted anyone was listening. By nightfall the room had become a prison, he couldn’t eat, couldn’t rest, every thought kept going over and over that bright hot moment in Dean’s arms. It was impossible to think of it as anything other than miraculous.

Wrong, it was _wrong_. This statement was made silently then out loud as well, but it just wouldn’t stick. Maybe….maybe he had imagined some part of it. Maybe it was his own inexperience in such matters that was coloring the moment so vividly now. Dean could have just been overcome with his concern, sometimes strong emotion could get confused in a man. That had to be it, he could be satisfied with that. But then the urge to see Dean came on so strong he gasped out loud. He _had_ to look him in the eye, just once, and measure whatever it was he found there with his own turmoil.

Castiel tore open the door and took the short steps to the bannister. From here he could see the whole layout of the saloon floor, it was very crowded for such a small town. There was music and card games and so many voices they crashed over and around each other, pierced through at times with women’s laughter. It took him a moment to find Dean, he was there, slouched at the bar, fingers toying with what appeared to be the most recent in a series of drinks. Castiel couldn’t move, all intention to walk up, look the man in the eye and spell out just how foolish they’d be to let desires of the flesh overtake them, bled out in an instant. He just stood there.

Until Dean, maybe with a set of senses imparted to all men who lived by the gun, lifted his head and looked up, caught sight of Castiel’s figure in the mirror over the bar and turned sharply to fix narrowing eyes upon him.

The sheriff stood abruptly and just held him in his gaze. Castiel was rendered stupidly immobile, panting for no reason he could understand, senses trilling at him to flee or be a man already and meet him face to face on equal ground to settle this. But Dean was the one moving, striding fast and determined over the floorboards, up the stairs. There was such a look of fierce resolve on Dean’s face that Castiel was suddenly overcome with the thought that he’d broken some law and the sheriff was here to seize him.

Which is exactly what he did.

Didn’t pause once in his stride as he put both hands solidly on Castiel’s hips and drove him backwards into the open door of his room. The door was kicked closed and still he was driven back until there was nowhere else to go, pinned against the armoire and then taken. Dean kissed him soundly, and Castiel met him with equal force. To speak would mean they had to justify, apologize, and neither of them was in any mood for that.

Dean kissed the same way he approached everything else, direct, forceful, assured. Castiel held on and opened himself to the assault, momentarily self-conscious about his own lack of experience. But that tongue delving hot and slick into his mouth, snaking in to taste and then retreating to trace wet lines along his lips, creating trails for teeth to follow, those sensations sent his head swimming until he forgot everything. He clutched at Dean everywhere, knocking his hat to the floor, leaning back into the armoire so he could leverage up his hips to meet the other man’s. He was matching Dean’s fervor now, the timidity of a moment before gone in the wake of his hunger. It was not the most skillful of kisses, but suddenly Dean was moaning into Castiel’s mouth and he knew this thing between them had nothing to do with talent.

Somehow, in this wide world, they had found each other, their shared secret dug from the mire and somehow, by some unnamable grace, made alive and _returned_ to one another. The way they grabbed at each other, tore at the criminal excess of clothing, tumbled and fell to the hard floor without feeling it, without caring, this all spoke to their complete wonder at feeling something this strongly and for once not feeling it alone.

The cold floorboards were rough and unforgiving but Castiel praised them, for their hard press felt grounding. He could not imagine why he wasn’t flying off, shaking apart, melting under this touch. He did not think his body was made to withstand this. Dean’s hands had made short work of opening his shirt, stroking and exploring quickly as he mouthed at Castiel’s neck, collarbone, chest. He arched under that mouth, made sounds he never knew he could make, it felt so wanton and _good_. God forgive him it felt so fucking good.

“Cas you make me insane, you – fucking hell – _ahh_! Let me touch you, please Cas let me…” Dean was staring down at him with such a wild plea in his eyes, but wasn’t he already touching him? Castiel couldn’t quite understand, but knew there was a permission that was being requested. Yes anything, anything if it’s like this. He noded, wide-eyed and Dean shuddered hard as he looked at him, groaned and then shifted his weight to free up a hand that tore at the fastening of his pants. Castiel was so hard that it took a moment for Dean to maneuver his cock free, but once he did he wasted no time gripping him rough and perfect and stroking him slow. The cry it ripped from him was nearly a scream, and Castiel knew it was considered an embarrassment to come as quickly as he’s about to but he can’t help it.

“Dean! _Oh oh oh_! Dean you have to – _uuuugh_ – let me touch you, too. I can’t….last…I..I..” It’s possible he’s going blind, there’s only green eyes and full lips and all other senses are somehow both heightened and muted at the same time.

“Yeah Cas…come on…” Dean shifts up, not releasing the slow burn piston of his right hand, to come to his knees and free his own erection with his left. It springs heavy and flushed from his pants and Castiel has never seen anything more delicious. He bats Dean’s hand away, almost angry that the man might withhold it from him any longer. It’s burning in his palms, he uses both, showing them equal favor as they try to mimic what Dean is doing to him now. It’s very hard to concentrate on so many things, relating whatever strokes and pressure Dean is using to his own technique, but something isn’t quite enough like this. He pulls Dean down roughly on top of him, he’d use his legs but they’re still tangled in his trousers. Their naked cocks meet and Castiel grinds up and yes…right there…right…

“Jesus fuck Cas just like that!” Dean tries to free his hand from where it had gotten trapped between them, and once he does he gathers Castiel into his arms and takes over. Rocks down hard, collides into a kiss, too shaky and riddled with their soft moans to be considered complete. A flint is touching off white sparks behind Castiel’s eyelids, his ribs are crushed painfully beneath the weight of the man on top of him, his tailbone drilling into the wood floor, but it’s incredible.

Dean whimpers his name, pained and pitiful and that’s all it takes. Cas is clenching and gasping, he can feel himself spilling hot between them, feel it go from dry to slick and _oh_ that’s even better. He’s growing too sensitive but next time….next time. Dean is shaking with his own release now, too, strangled little sound slotted in the space of Castiel’s throat. It’s so wet between them, come and sweat pooling on his stomach and trickling over his sides. Dean doesn’t move, and Castiel doesn’t think he can either but it’s getting hard to breath.

“Dean.”

He rolls off, head lolling to the side with quiet huff of breath. After a moment, Dean sits up suddenly, eyes raking over the twisted folds of Castiel’s clothes, still mostly on, the pink flushed skin, red patches on his collarbone from the scruff of Dean’s chin, drags down to the fluid dripping from his stomach and sides and groans again. Castiel feels suddenly shy and exposed, sticky and horribly unappealing like this but Dean is kissing him again, soft and eager, lips, cheeks, eyelids and Castiel can’t keep up or completely understand why.

“Stay there.” Dean whispers, sitting up to tug at his boots, pants, coat. It had felt like enough skin at the time, but watching Dean undress fully leaves Castiel feeling a bit cheated. There’s so much lush golden skin, there’s freckles he hadn’t seen before, a whole galaxy of sun browned flecks that he could have mapped the taste of. Dean moves to the washbasin and wets a rag, coming back to kneel beside Castiel and clean the mess from his torso. Some of it had gotten on his neck as well and the cold water causes him to shiver and Dean to suck in a breath for some reason. Dean cleans himself as well then turns back to Castiel, still lying on the floor, not knowing what else to do. With gentle hands he undresses the preacher and helps him to standing, tugging him over to the bed where he lies back, pulling Castiel in after him.

It’s a good sized bed, more than enough room for two people to recline side by side with their share of space but that’s not what Dean had planned. Castiel found himself tucked into the sheriff’s arms, head resting on his chest. It’s still early yet, but Castiel feels so suddenly tired and Dean is so warm and wrapped so securely around him, he can’t help but sigh and allow sleep to overtake him.

Thoughts, regrets, concerns….those are for another day. He knows they will come, but not tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s the dark of pre-dawn, downstairs has been silent for some time, outside there are only animals and the keepers of such ungodly hours that shuffle past the half open window. It will be day soon, bright golden daylight that was made for such terrible things as examining what you’ve got up to in the dark. Castiel doesn’t move much when he sleeps, but every little twist or shift Dean followed. He never found sleep last night, wracked with panic and guilt, just held onto the preacher in the darkness, made sure they were always intertwined securely together, safe.

A false safety.

He was going to have to tell him, the preacher would find out soon enough anyway. But there was that dark little voice again, rationalizing, forming the case for being selfish and calling it logic. Calling it the best possible outcome. There were arguments going on in his head, hurt words, anger in Castiel’s voice and he practiced meeting all of them with these crooked bricks of logic and tried to tell himself they could build something out of them.

This was not the only voice vying for attention inside the space of Dean’s reason, but it was the loudest. The same one that had been begging, clawing, screaming at him from the start to gather up this beautiful angel and kiss him, touch him, pull him down into the dust at their feet and make him come and plead for Dean and come again. And that part had also convinced him that once would be enough.

He’d met another man’s body in the cover of night before, he’d done more than the little sin they’d just got up to, so much more, and all those times it had quieted the needy impulses, though never killed them. That stupid black lie had tried to convince him this might be the same. The preacher was attracted to him as well, no question there, so they could have a tumble, hit the road in the morning with their itch thoroughly scratched, maybe shake hands and never speak of it again.

The _other_ voice sounded, oddly, a lot like Sam when it called him an idiot. And if he wasn’t going through a crisis of conscious, he might want to examine that. The Sam voice said _just look at yourself_ , _Dean_.  The way he had Castiel gripped tightly in his arms, his hungry roving eyes that had never stopped taking in the pale stretches of the preacher’s skin all night. It pointed a judgmental finger to the thick burn in his chest that had nothing to do with lust, that did its own begging in a quieter way. An empty hole burned out of him that whispered _not enough not enough not enough_. That little voice knew better and did it’s best to convince him that the moment Castiel woke he needed to tell him the truth about what was waiting in Lawrence.

Not that he would ever lie, but the only way he knew how to break news like this was the way he’d always done, wink and a smirk when whores got too attached or a confused conquest thought there should be something more. There was no kindness in him when he recalled doing this before, but that had always been better for everyone in the long run. But imagining doing the same to Castiel, laying out the truth with a shrug and a raised brow and something like _what did you think would happen now, preacher?_ God it stuck in his throat sideways till he felt like he was choking.

Shit he wasn’t prepared for any of this. He just wanted to lie in this bed with Castiel until the Second Coming. He didn’t want to be a sheriff of a growing town, didn’t want to be responsible for keeping bad people from hurting good, didn’t want to be anything other than the person that got to make the good preacher shake and moan and maybe give up on all this God nonsense so he could find a new religion under these sheets. Dean let his hands trail over Castiel’s skin, he breathed in the scent of his hair, smiling into it when he found the man’s soft sleepy cock to play with. He liked the way Castiel huffed and pushed his hips into Dean’s hands as he slept, his mind not quite as alert as his body. It gave him wicked ideas.

Sinking down under the covers, Dean trailed kisses over the sleep warmed skin. He wanted to suck little bruises along his hips and down the insides of his thighs, but he wasn’t ready to have the preacher wake just yet. Instead he carefully, slowly pushed Cas’ thighs apart and settled down between them. It was so warm down here under the sheets, the air getting more humid as he mouthed and suckled at the sleeping man’s growing cock. He loved the way it twitched and filled in his mouth, loved the way he could still taste traces of their mingled come from earlier. His goal was to get this angel as close to coming as he could without waking him, so he had to go slow, so achingly slow, but he found that it was the perfect opportunity to commit every single part of Castiel’s anatomy to memory. They had nowhere to be, Dean had already made the decision to keep the party in Tully another day, and it was another hour to dawn at least so no outside distractions to throw him off course.

Dean let the wide flat of his tongue feel out the underside of his shaft, roll over the plummy head, let the pointed tip of it dig gently into the slit and trace veins and work out the small details. He couldn’t see Castiel’s face, had to use the man’s body to tell him when to pause and how hard he could suck down the whole length. Up and down slowly, spurred by the lovely little sighs and half words mumbled above him. He lifted the covers once to sneak a peek, happy with the parted lips and small crease between Castiel’s brow, lashes resting flush against pinking cheeks as the man slept on. Dean wondered at what he must be dreaming of now as he took the whole hard length of him down his throat. Gentle with his hands to pump over the stretch he couldn’t fit in his mouth, he worked steady, enjoying the stutters of breath and the exhale that sounded a lot like _Dean_.

He could taste a few salty beads on his tongue, feel the skin get thin and tight as Cas grew even harder, so close. The preacher was shifting beneath him now, moaning and Dean tried to hold back but it’s getting real difficult with all those pretty sounds he’s making. He thinks he’s gonna succeed when the covers are ripped off and Cas is staring down at him with wide shocked eyes.

“ _D-Dean_?!”

He’s panting, throwing his head back then propping up again to try and figure out how this got so far without his notice. Dean smirks as best he can around the girth in his mouth and sets about to finish Cas off as hard and fast as he can. He pins the man’s hips to the mattress with half his weight and proceeds to suck hard and wet. Cas nearly screams, arching back, one hand accidentally punching the wall behind his head.

“Wait! Dean let me go I’m gonna….Dean _ughn UHH_ \- you shouldn’t…”

But Dean’s having none of that modesty, that man’s come belongs to _him_ and he’s gonna take it. His fingers wrap tighter around Castiel’s hips and he can feel the muscles trembling beneath them. He fucks impossibly harder with his mouth down onto Castiel, who’s both bucking up into him and trying to twist away. And then with a sound that will haunt Dean for the rest of his days Castiel comes down his throat and he sucks it down greedy, licking up every spare drop.

Castiel is panting with a look that’s both fucked out and scandalized and Dean decides the expression makes perfect use of his features and he should look like that every day.

“You…you…I didn’t think….”

 He can’t fucking handle what Castiel does to him, looking up like at him like the act of Dean swallowing him down merits the same wonder as finding a lost chapter of the Good Book. There isn’t exactly a rational, human thought that directs Dean to shift up over Castiel, to grab his own needy dick and start pumping it furiously as he stares down into piercing blues eyes. He’s been on edge for what feels like hours so there’s no time for either of them to consider much before Dean is painting white stripes across Castiel’s chest and stomach, crying out Cas’ name and gripping himself in the last twitching throws to rub the head in the mess he’s made and feel enormously pleased with how that looks. Cas lays there gasping as if he’s just come again, and when Dean flops down beside him, he twists his fingers in Dean’s hair and pulls his head up for a filthy kiss.

Dean gets lost in it for a moment before planting a hand on Castiel’s stomach and rubbing his spend into the man’s skin. God he’s never done anything like this before but he can’t seem to help himself, wanting to mark up the preacher in every way he can, lay down invisible claims in the man’s skin like he’s some kind of animal. Castiel moans like he’s tried, and failed, to pretend he doesn’t like it, and that has Dean sitting up quick, hauling Cas into his lap and wrapping him up tight in his arms.

“Gonna stay here another day Cas, gonna have them send up all our meals and a bath and I’m not letting you leave this bed till we ride out tomorrow morning.”

Cas grumbles his pleasure into Dean’s mouth and begins to lick his way down his neck. And Dean decides he can have one more day, just one more. He’ll tell Cas tomorrow.

Everything can wait till tomorrow.

*

Travel was delayed a few hours when Castiel took over the general store and pulled together an odd assortment of goods. Dean didn’t want to mention that they already had most of what he was buying, but it all made more sense when the preacher called a halt to the coach a few hours down the road. There was a strip of black cloth tied to a tree branch that Castiel took down before marching off into the woods with his bundle and not a syllable of explanation.

Jesus the man was infuriating. Dean followed after him shouting but had a pretty good idea of what was up, confirming his suspicions when they ran into the young native again. This time Dean was allowed to follow. Castiel handed off the supplies, slipping a few sticks of candy into the hand of a young girl who eyed them like they might be full of poison. There were a few words with an ancient looking woman, but the prognosis seemed the new mother and child were doing well and they were prepared to follow after their tribe in a few days’ time.

  
Dean was flush with both irritation and respect for the preacher, and grumbled about it as he dragged Castiel back through the trees. Castiel just cooed on about the baby and offered his knowing little half smile at Dean’s ire, so the sheriff was forced to prop him up against a tree and kiss him breathless. Get him all worked up and whimpering then toss him into the coach with a devilish wink at the preacher’s pained, needy look.

*

Had they stayed the original course, it would have taken them roughly three more weeks to reach Lawrence. As it stood now it had been a month and a half and there were still a few days yet until they arrived. No one said a word and the accepted reasoning was that stopping in towns for a day or more whenever feasible kept Miss Meg happy. The reality, however, could be found in the confines of the preacher’s bed each night. It was impossible to get up to much on the road, they were limited to a handful of moments when one or the other would use the excuse of bathing or taking a piss to steal a frenzied kiss among the trees or behind a tall enough cluster of rocks.

There was one line, however, that Dean refused to cross. No matter how much he wanted it, how much Castiel seemed to beg him with the unspoken language of his body, he refused to let them actually fuck. They could grope and suck and come until they each pleaded mercy but it was all done in the roundabout ways. He knew what Castiel was thinking, that Dean was acting out of some sort of respect for the preacher’s virginity, and Dean had found out first thing that Castiel was a virgin in every respect. And he was fine adding this falsehood onto the pile and letting Cas believe what he wanted. Truth was Dean was already head over heels and as much as he wanted to fuck that beautiful man open on his cock in every conceivable way, he knew it would only hurt the preacher worse in the end and he just couldn’t do it.

The closer they got, the more he hated himself. And he couldn’t even bother with the look of question Garth gave him when he ordered that they should pull over at the last town before Lawrence, not even a full day’s ride away, and spend the night.

“Do everyone good to make our appearances refreshed.” He offered lamely, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck.

Dean spent that whole night on his knees, crawling up the ladder of the man’s spine, stretched over the preacher as he writhed and bucked, wringing out all those sounds he loved, making Cas come again and again with his fingers and mouth and tongue. Worshiping his whole body until it was dawn and the ruse of taking a night to refresh would be clearly a lie. He didn’t care. This might be it, last time, gotta get his fill so that he can look back and remember.

And when they arrived in Lawrence the next morning, he blanched at the small crowd gathered there from Garth’s telegraph, everyone he cared about, his family and friends and community and Dean thought he was going to be sick.

Cas smiled at everyone and everyone smiled back and there were voices clambering over one another and handshakes from all angles and it was chaos, but Dean still saw with cutting clarity the way Castiel’s smile died when one slim hand in particular clasped the preacher’s.

“It’s so good to meet you Reverend Novak! I’m Sheriff Winchester’s wife Lisa.”

*

“Reverend Novak? Are you home?” A thin, sweet voice carried across his threshold. Castiel had been standing with the hammer in his hands for a solid ten minutes without being able to recall just what it was he’d walked over here to fix. It was happening too often nowadays, minutes of time lost, hours in the evening with no chores or demands to occupy his thoughts. It was pathetic. It had to stop. He blushed at the interruption, as if he’d been caught doing something illicit, but they couldn’t see him from here and he felt doubly silly at his rapidly beating heart.

“Hello Miss Milton, Miss Harvelle,” He nodded at them where they stood at his doorstep, arms intertwined and giggling. Behind them he saw Jo’s mother Ellen and Anna’s mother Jody along with Missouri holding a basket of food and Jessica holding a stack of folded blankets against her swelling stomach.  “I thought we were meeting later at the church.”

That must have been a good enough welcome for them since they all spilled into the front room of his home and set about preparing the space for lunch. Not that there was much to clear. His home was nearly empty.

The original tenant had built the homestead with an eye for a family, but when his wife and child had died during labor, he’d abandoned it. The previous preacher had been moved in as the community felt that it wouldn’t do to have such a flourishing town with a preacher that slept on a cot in a room off the church sanctuary. Reverend Glenn had been neither a careful nor clean man. Aside from the few bits of furniture left behind, he’d added nothing but books and refuse, letting the rest of it rot around him.

There’d been some effort to tidy the place for Castiel’s arrival, but no one had the time to see to the necessary maintenances. It fell to Castiel, and a core of the church’s women felt sorry enough at the extra work they’d left him that they took it upon themselves to bring him food every other day, or spare supplies, flowers, gently used linens. And Castiel had managed to pretend that the reason all of these things were left in piles at the corners of the rooms was that he had so very much to attend to with regards to basic repairs.

He didn’t like lying, and if he was being honest this was entirely a lie. The home itself was well built, strong bones and solid lines. There was very little that needed his attention. The real reason the rooms remained so bare and unlived in even a month after he’d arrived was entirely due to his helplessness to do anything else after spending hours a day forcing smiles and pretending that every minute didn’t feel like hot screws were boring into his chest. He would be furious with Dean if he wasn’t so busy being furious with himself.

How could he have been so stupid? So humiliatingly naïve as to think a man like Dean Winchester wouldn’t be married. Or even if he wasn’t, what the hell had he thought could come of their….time together? How could he have given himself over so freely with no questions asked? And while he didn’t want to consider that Dean was such a man, he knew part of the reason was that if he’d known, he would have felt obligated to stop, and he hadn’t wanted to. Selfish, stupid, reckless behavior and now he was reaping the rewards. He shed tears over it, then bit back screams at his weakness.

Dean consumed his thoughts.

First it was snatches of memory through the fog of his grief. The patterns of callouses on his hands. The low drawl of his teasing voice. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes the sun had painted in sharp contrasting tan. It was as if his mind were trying to catalogue it all, now that he would have no more opportunity to experience these things as if they were somehow his. Then it moved on to fantasies. Dreams that their travel to Lawrence had never ended, that they’d traveled on alone forever in the wilderness. Dreams of Dean unattached in a world that didn’t care who you loved, of a church that felt the same. Then darker ones, of Lisa dying, of Dean dying, of Castiel wasting away of a broken heart until Dean kicked down his door, hollow eyed and begging forgiveness.

“This place would come together much quicker if you had a woman about.” Jody smiled at him knowingly, Jo and Anna giggled.

“I have a number of women about,” Castiel looked around at the group as they took over his home. They all laughed at the preacher’s apparent innocence. He just didn’t want to encourage them. Almost the day after he’d arrived Jody had shown up with her daughter Anna in tow and looked him over like she was already kitting out the bridal trousseau in her head.

“We should get some of the men out here,” Ellen mused while they ate. “Maybe Ash if he’s not too busy with the telegraph station, or one the of the Winchester boys.” Castiel choked on a bit of his food, coughing politely into his napkin. Several of them gave him a sympathetic look. Somehow or other, they’d come to believe the preacher had a delicate disposition, refined, gentle. He was always too weary from the effort of feigning pleasantness to correct them.

“I don’t believe that’s necessary, I am quite capable of seeing to – “

“Sure you are sweetie,” Ellen waived a dismissive hand at him. “But you’d be doing me a favor. Anything to get Dean out of my saloon for an afternoon would be a Godsend. That boy’s had a bee in his bonnet he’s been trying to drown in my good stuff since he got back. I honestly don’t know how you made it all the way out here with your sanity intact.”

He doesn’t think they notice the bitterness of his laugh.

*

“I almost shot you!” Sam ran an aggravated hand through his long hair. Stupid long hair, he just wasn’t gonna to cut it, was he?

“You’re a- a- bitch who couldn’t hit th’ side of a _barn_!” Dean dissolved into giggles from where he sat on the floor after scaring Sam half to death sliding in through his kitchen window like a giant intoxicated raccoon.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk before.” Dean tips his hat with two fingers, falls over once before making it to standing.

“Special ‘ccasions only, Sammy. You should toast me, I think I’m in love! But, you know, Winchester style….so it means I’m fucked all ta hell.”

It took Sam a few moments to process this, enough time for Dean to crash into the table on his way to the bedroom. But Jess would kill him if Dean got his boots all over her clean sheets so he manages to run after his brother and steer him bodily into the guest room instead. It’ll be the nursery soon enough but he had been waiting for his brother to return before starting any projects that might keep him away from his duties as deputy.

“You’re in love? When did this happen?” Dean flopped down flat on the bed, groaned when the room started spinning and sat back up.

“Out there….on the road. Hell, probably ever since Boston, I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t get my head straight Sammy, and I think I understand why you were such a whiny little brat the first time Jess turned you down.”

Sam covered his eyes with a palm. “Dean, please… _please_ tell me you didn’t sleep with Bobby’s new wife out there. I can’t even think about that poor fucking woman having to….”

“Who _Meg_?! God Sammy, give me a little credit.”

“Well what are-?” He looks over the misery etched onto his brother’s face. “Oh no. Oh God no Dean, tell me you don’t mean…”

“Glory, glory Hallelujah Sam. So fucking fucked.”

“Reverend Novak?! You slept with the _preacher_?!”

“Well I didn’t…we didn’t….”

There are a number of vague hand gestures that Sam’s not sure he wants to interpret. “I mean we were… _together_ …and such. A lot. But not all the way, Sam. I couldn’t…with Lisa and all….and I’m such a bastard.” Sam is shaking his head so furiously it might spin off from his shoulders.

“Don’t elaborate. Just…shit Dean I don’t even know what to tell you on this one.”

“Fucked right?” And his brother looks so miserable it breaks Sam’s heart.

“Yeah, a little fucked. But Dean, maybe this is an opportunity to look at you and Lisa. I mean you never do _anything_ for yourself and it’s not as if we’d let something happen to her. You never should have married her when-“

“I can’t leave her Sam! You know that, I made a promise.”

“That you interpreted with that twisted logic of yours,” Sam is shouting now, “That says you have to give everything up for everyone! You don’t love her, Dean. So why the hell did you even need to marry her? You didn’t, you just don’t know how to function unless you’re –“

Even drunk and collapsed on the bed, Dean’s so quick Sam doesn’t see the punch coming. They spill to the floor, too uncoordinated in the small space to do much more than tumble about.

“Get off me you asshole!” Dean screams, Sam finally managing to pin him to the floor. Dean’s skilled but right now he’s got nothing against Sam’s weight.

“Then quit fucking fighting me you jerk!” Dean huffs then nods, Sam huffs then nods, and there’s no one else to witness how similar they look right now.

Sam sits back against the wall and Dean rolls up to lean against the bed and they sit there in silence as the fight leaks out of both of them.

“Even if I could…could leave her. It’s not like I can _marry_ Cas or somethin’. They’d string us up and shoot us- and don’t look at me like that. You’re so fucking naïve sometimes. Why do you think you’re the only one I’ve told about my…my…condition?” Sam is touching his lip and checking his fingers for blood.

“Cause you’re an insufferable bastard with no actual friends?”

“Cause it’s _evil_ Sam, I’m evil for wanting it. And he’s a man of the church, I seduced a holy…person. * _HIC_ *The only-* _HIC*_ only thing worse woulda been if I fucked an actual angel of the Lord. * _HIC_ *“

Sam’s laughing at him now, “You are a ridiculously theatrical drunk.”

“Shut up Sam! Tell me what to do!”

“Well, seeing as I can’t do both of those things at once.... I can’t speak for him Dean, I just know you. And I know you have the most infuriating way of making it your duty to put family before yourself without letting us do the same for you.” Sam lifts a hand at Dean’s protest but Lisa is an old argument and he’s not in the mood to till barren ground. “But puttin’ that aside for a moment, this church thing, that’s real Dean. I could tell you to divorce Lisa, run off with this man you’re obviously tearing yourself up about and go live somewhere in the mountains in peace for the rest of your days. But someone who devotes themselves to a calling like that has a lot more to get through than just….the customary relations.” Sam chewed on this thoughts a moment, giving his brother a pained look. Big soft eyes, tight little frown. Dean hated when his brother looked at him like that, it was always when he had something terrible to say.

_We have to do something about pa._

_Adam’s dead._

_I don’t want you to be alone, but not like this Dean_.

Dean wanted that other look Sam got, the one where he focused like a cat on a spot in front of him before lighting up with an answer to their troubles. “I think, maybe this time…look, I _don’t_ think you’re evil Dean, and you know how I feel about Lisa, but I don’t see how this can end well with him. I want you to have love no matter who it’s with, I really do Dean, but maybe you try friendship instead and let this one go.”

And even though he’d spent weeks arguing with himself all the reasons why he couldn’t have Cas, his booze addled brain had sought out his brother hoping, pathetically hoping, that smart as sin Sammy could come up with some way out of this. Some set of options where he could be with Cas and no one would get hurt in the process.

But if Sam couldn’t think of anything, there was nothing else to do.


	5. Chapter 5

The benediction drifted over the crowd, words so familiar Castiel could speak them by rote and use the moment to prepare himself for the next part, the most difficult time of his week. He made his way down the aisle to wait at the door. The line of people waiting to greet the preacher was long, even a month on folks were still curious about their new addition. He greeted them each cordially, shaking hands firmly with the men and delicately with the women. Several feet away he could see Lisa waiting with her young son Ben and schooled his features so that she wouldn’t notice the shot of sickening anguish that bolted through him.

She greeted him every Sunday and did her share to make him feel welcome. She’d visited with food like the other women, pulled him aside for a kind word if they happened to meet about town. Every single word Castiel spoke to her felt like knives in his mouth. She was so lovely and sweet, he couldn’t find a fault in her whenever they’d spoken. And God forgive him he had tried to, wanted to discover some flaw that he could hold close and give him cold comfort while he moved through an empty house. Ben was polite and clever and even though he couldn’t see any of Dean in his features, there were gestures that channeled Dean so clearly at times that it made him ache. They were the perfect family, and the only good thing about it was that he never had to witness them all together.

Dean never came to church. The Winchester home was at the opposite end of town from his, the two men kept different hours, they found ways to fill their respective time.

Castiel saw Dean only twice since coming to Lawrence, once in the upper window of the jailhouse, where he understood Dean kept an office. Dean was standing at the window pointing aggressively and arguing with someone he couldn’t see. Castiel had stopped dead in the street to stare until Missouri had passed by and asked if he needed help with something. He’d smiled at her and declined but spent the rest of the day shaken, lying on his bed and staring at the patterns in the wallpaper. The second time he’d been with the Miltons, Jody and Anna guiding him to the small café where they’d retained him for lunch. He couldn’t make out the sheriff’s features clearly from the other end of the street, but there was no mistaking that walk, and he had a moment of panic when he realized they would meet in the middle, pass by close enough for him to have to acknowledge the sheriff. Dean was walking with a tall, solidly built man that he’d come to find was his brother Sam.

The group paused for pleasantries, Castiel made some of his own but had no recollection of what he said. He stared at Dean, and Dean stared right back. It was a sickly, frozen moment. Before they’d come here, any time Castiel had caught his eye Dean would smile, and Castiel would try to return it but usually felt too caught in the man’s spell to offer much of one. This was the first time they got to stand close since their arrival. There were no smiles now. Dean’s gaze fell subtly to where Anna’s hand linked in Castiel’s arm, but the preacher caught it. Caught the minute scowl on the sheriff’s face and matched it with one of his own. He could feel indignant rage boiling up under his skin and if they stood here much longer someone was going to notice the unwarranted sharpness in his voice when he spoke. But Sam was saying something now.

“Well Jess has got a cart load of chores for me now that Dean’s back in town, so ‘fraid I can’t offer much help. But maybe Dean here could lend a hand, he’s mighty good at fixin’ things.” Castiel looked at Sam, unsure of what they’d just been talking about.

“What was that Sam?” Dean looked just as confused.

“Your brother here has just volunteered your services in helping the preacher with his repairs.  He’s got too much work for one man all by himself.” The motherly look Jody shot at Dean had got him to do what she wanted more than a few times in the past.

Cas and Dean made similarly strangled sounds. “No!” Castiel hadn’t meant to nearly shout. “No, that’s quit alright, I’m sure the sheriff has more than enough work to occupy his time, he needn’t bother with me.”

“Why not Dean?” Sam was looking at his brother pointedly in a way that made Castiel uneasy. “And you’d get the chance to work on him preacher.” That look was turned on him now and Castiel felt himself go hot wondering just how much the younger Winchester knew. He knew something, that was for certain. Dean had mentioned more than once how smart Sam was and Castiel had smiled at the family pride there. But clever, foxy eyes were shifting back and forth between the two men with a look that was a little too wise and great deal too calculating for Castiel’s comfort. “He ain’t been to church since he was in short pants, but I think if anyone can get him to see reason it’d be you.”

*

Dean was good with his hands, if his father hadn’t pinned the silver star on him from the moment he’d stayed upright in a saddle, he thought he might have been a carpenter. Making useful things, homes that people could settle in, chests to hold the things they loved, rockers to soothe them in the evening quiet. He found it hushed his restlessness some, and he hadn’t realized how long he’d let this hobby lie fallow until he had the hammer in his hands and familiar burn in his shoulders.

It let him be near Cas.

He’d made his excuses for staying away, and Castiel had echoed them. But come Thursday morning he found himself setting up a sawhorse around back and cutting new planks to replace the warped ones that made up the front steps. He felt it along the skin of his back when Cas discovered him there, knew the man was standing in the back door with arms crossed, deciding what to do. But Dean was here because he’d realized how much he needed to keep things simple. He wasn’t about to throw himself at the preacher’s feet and beg forgiveness, it smacked too much of desperation and he wasn’t willing to make himself so vulnerable. What he could fix was this house, make sure Castiel had four sturdy walls and a solid roof over his head, maybe that would make up for some of it.

The sharp scent of new cut wood mingled with the wet earth, the early morning damp promising to burn off by noon. He didn’t acknowledge Castiel, just bowed his head and set to work.

Castiel watched him for a long while, and Dean wondered if the man would run him off, curse him, tell him he wasn’t wanted here. But Castiel turned back into the house, and the only thing that answered the sounds of Dean’s labor after that was the echo of another hammer coming from inside. They worked that way all morning, Castiel inside and Dean out, until mid-day when Castiel carried a bundle to a nearby copse of trees, signaled for Dean to follow and set out a simple lunch of apples and hard cheese with a fragrant loaf of brown bread that he knew must have come from Jody.

They were both tired, covered in sweat and dust. It was almost good like this, the shade and the aching muscles helped them both sink back into the grass and appreciate their food without feeling the need for idle banter. And when it was over, there was space for a thank you, or the beginning of a conversation Dean was full aware he needed to have. But Castiel just gathered the remains of their meal and stood.

“The roof needs a great deal more work than I’d realized.” Dean looked up at the placid blue eyes, unsure if this was an olive branch or a test. Didn’t matter either way.

“I can fix it.”

*

By the following Thursday there was nothing left to do for the outside, the front steps were neat and flat, the porch striped with several bright new planks. The plant beds were cleared and prepped for a late planting, the walkway leveled, the fence mended, the shutters sanded, painted and rehung. The roof had taken a full day to complete, but they’d worked on it together. Kneeling on rags and passing tar and planks and nails, their fingers black and necks sunburnt. As with every day before, nothing of consequence was said between them, Dean felt he should try, but Castiel spoke only the words needed to continue their work. He barely looked at Dean and it felt wrong.

Daybreak Friday morning, Dean knocked at the front door, tools in hand.

“My table has a loose joint.” Was all the man offered before standing aside for Dean to enter.

Dean fixed the table easily while Castiel clattered about upstairs in the bedroom, taking apart the iron bed frame, scrubbing the grime from the bars and screw holes before trying to fit it all back together. When he was finished with the table, Dean climbed the stairs hesitantly. It felt strange to be up here, walking towards Castiel’s bedroom, intimate when all other intimacies had been taken away. Dean peeked shyly into the room, watching Castiel on his knees struggling with the bars. He threw a frustrated look at Dean.

“This was much easier to take apart.” He grumbled, scowling at the frame.

“Here, let me hold the other side for you.” Dean moved to the opposite end of the room, bare he noticed, but for that battered leather valise that had journeyed with them from Boston and a pile of books topped with the stub of a candle in a brass holder.

“You don’t have to do that.” Castiel argued.

“You don’t have to be stubborn.” They glared at each other for a moment. “Cas, can I just-“

“ _No_ , Dean. Not now.” He fixed his attention on his dirt blackened fingers, and Dean could see him struggle, very briefly, with something before finally lifting his head to meet Dean’s gaze. It had been so long since Castiel full looked at him, like he used to, that Dean let himself ignore the distant coolness that had dropped over those features. “I’ll accept your assistance with this task, then I’ll make us coffee and we can sit. You may unburden yourself as you feel you must and I will listen. I will thank you for your help, but after that I think our dealings with each other are done.”

Dean nodded and shut his mouth, and between the two of them the frame was quickly restored, mattress laid out and dressed in clean sheets. Castiel moved silently to the kitchen putting the coffee on to boil. He brought two tin mugs from the cupboard, remnants of the original family now gone. They sat staring at one another across the newly fixed table. Dean could see dark circles under the preacher’s eyes, a line at his brow that was deeper than he remembered. He had gone over this conversation in his mind for so long, even before they’d made it to Kansas. Now he couldn’t remember any of it.

“Cas, will you…can I tell you all of it? I feel that you should know everything and then you can decide.”

“Decide what exactly?”

“What kind of a man you think I am.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed like the weight of Dean’s expectations was too much. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m not an ignorant schoolboy, we both made choices that did harm to ourselves and others. If you feel you need to make some sort of confession to me I will hear it, and I will do my best to understand, but then I think it would be best if we keep to ourselves after that.”

“It matters, Cas.” And Dean continued when he saw the look of confusion on Castiel’s face. “It matters what you think of me, and I don’t think I can go on anymore with you thinking I would…..” Dean sighed.

“I was four when a cattle rustler set the house on fire to keep my daddy off his trail while his men cleared out the Carson ranch. He was sheriff of Lawrence back then and it was a good bit wilder than the town you find now. My mamma was killed in that fire, I got Sammy out, he was just a baby. Pa spent years looking for that man, and when I got old enough, I spent a few more years looking with him. We found him when I was sixteen, hung him till he stopped dancing. I watched my Pa cut off his head and tie it in a sack to his saddle, and when we got back he buried it six feet deep under the floorboards of the jail cell. Head’s still there, far as I know.”

“Pa weren’t around much, left us on our own a good deal. Few of the townsfolk took turns raising us, Bobby mostly, Ellen some, too. But it was always me an’ Sammy, I took care of him and we came out okay considering. Pa spent all his time chasing _demons,_ as he called them, outlaws and thieves, he was a ruthless sonofabitch. Got shot more than any man I ever knew and barely batted an eye, caught himself Jimmy the Red with a broken leg, dragged him back here and passed out on the saddle minute he got to town. He was damn near a living legend round these parts. And then the bastard got himself killed falling in front of a wagon when he got kicked out of Ellen’s for being too drunk.”

The coffee whistles and Dean stops, lets Castiel get up to pour, watches the man’s fine, long fingered hands when they get near his mug. He hadn’t realized there would be so much needed explaining.

“Thank you, this is good.” Dean takes another sip. “Well next thing you know I’m sheriff, got an office full of Pa’s crap we got to clear out and what should I find but letters to someone none of us had ever heard of going back _years_. There were boxes of them. I didn’t know what to make of it, so Sammy suggested I just write and let the guy know Pa was dead. Before the month’s out, this scrawny thing’s showed up at my door saying he’s John Winchester’s son.”

Castiel watches him patiently, but Dean can feel him wondering how any of this applies to the two of them.

“Turns out Pa was doing more than hunting demons out there on the plains. Had a woman he kept, though he didn’t marry her. Got a son by her, seemed to help them out and visit when he was close by. Anyway, boy’s all grown up, his Ma died of pneumonia a year before John did, so Adam, that’s his name, Adam didn’t have much keeping him in town, and we were always big on taking care of family. So he stayed with us in Lawrence, and not six months after he showed up but he fell ass backwards in love with the little Braeden girl who got herself grown up into a real pretty woman name of Lisa.”

“Your wife?”

“Didn’t get her first. They were married quick and had Ben quicker than that. Sam got hitched up with Jess not long after, so I was more a third wheel, gave them the house after Sam moved out and moved into the office, just like the old man. They were so happy Cas, and we were all together and it was the best it’s ever been. Then two years ago the Mason gang comes through town while Sam and I were out in Chesterville transferring a prisoner. They shot the place up good, and one of them took a shine to Lisa when he saw her in town. Adam tried to defend her and got a bullet to the head, right in front of her and Ben.”

“That’s terrible!” Castiel clutched his mug, and he looked so pained Dean wanted to run a soothing hand along the preacher’s arm. He wanted to very much but refrained.

“They went to pieces Cas, little Ben especially. He had nightmares and she cried all the time. I moved back in to help. Lisa talked about moving out to Durango to live with her sister. But we’d lost so many people and I just couldn’t lose Ben too, he was family. They both were.”

“So you married her.”

“I did. After Adam died I’d promised her I would always take care of them, and I didn’t want her to feel that she had to hitch herself to some other man just to take care of Ben. And afterwards, it weren’t too bad, I have a….umm…a condition, same as you I guess.” Castiel gives him a confused look. “I’m of an age when mothers start parading their daughters by my window. And I was always afraid that if I married one of them, they might….know somehow.”

“You mean that you prefer the company of men.” Dean takes a shuddering breath. He’s only ever talked about this to Sammy, and only after the kid had sussed it out himself and cornered Dean repeatedly until he’d been forced to admit it.

“Yeah that. Lisa doesn’t know, but she makes no demands on me like a normal wife. We both look at each other more as brother an’ sister, we don’t sleep in the same bed ‘cept once in a while I’ll hold her at night if she gets low.” Dean doesn’t know why this admission makes him feel guilty, he hopes Castiel can’t see him blushing. There’s a long silence between them, the coffee gets cold.

“Cas, I’m real sorry. I know I was selfish to drag you into this and not give you the whole truth. I just never met anybody like you before, the way you make me feel, it was just…..I was afraid to say anything that might change it.”

Castiel looks at his warped reflection wavering on the surface of his drink. Could he really hold ill will in his heart, when he had been doing much the same thing? Nothing was ever easy when two people like them got together, and he had been just as afraid of destroying their happiness with too many questions. Their guilt was equal, and this realization melted a bit of his icy resolve.

“Dean, I should apologize too. You were not the only one that was acting selfishly. I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you so thoughtlessly, I should have considered the consequences.”

“No Cas, don’t do that,” Dean is up and out of his chair in a flash, dropping to his knees beside Castiel and looking up at the preacher’s shocked face with hard glittering eyes. He doesn’t think he can touch the man without turning it into a caress so Dean grips the seat of the chair, trapping Castiel in the frame of his arms. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. I _seduced_ you, I tempted you away from your faith and I did things….Cas you’re a holy man and this is all on me, I-“

Having Dean this close, on his knees begging forgiveness and tipping his head up to Castiel’s, exposing the tan line of his throat, clenching with emotion, lips straight and firm so that Castiel wants to kiss them soft, it’s making it hard to breathe. He tries to hold still but it ends up as squirming because even after all this Dean can make him melt hot with barely a touch.

“Dean, I think you’re giving me too much credit, I’m not that holy.” He laughs nervously because Dean’s not moving away. “I never cared much what the church had to say about my….our….condition, as you put it. I put myself to right with God on that matter long ago. Firstly, way I see it, every man’s got a condition of some sort, temper, taste for cards, what have you. The work’s in making sure you don’t hurt other people by it. Secondly, I don’t believe our Father would condemn love in whatever form it takes, a union of a man and a woman can be an ugly twisted thing, I’ve seen it.  Just the virtue of their sex does not make it right in the eyes of God. And if two men can find….affection…..between one another, how is that of less worth?”

Dean sits back on his heels and stares up at him dumbfounded. Castiel wants him to stand, this is too intimate, too easy for him to join him on the floor.

“You…you really think all that?”

“I do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not stupid enough to preach it, I’ve gotten a hard enough time with ‘love thy neighbor as thyself’ whenever I’ve tried to explain it meant more’n just kin. I’ve been around enough to understand the difference between God and religion.”  He looked up at the ceiling; if God was listening he wondered what he might think of him finally admitting the thing he’d struggled with the most. “My faith…it has made me a better man, but not necessarily a better preacher.”

Dean considers him in silence for a moment, so Castiel rises to take the cups to the sink. When he turns back Dean is standing by his chair, still staring at Castiel like he’s trying to read text in another language.

“So are we…okay?” Castiel smiles at him, and it feels sad but he hopes it doesn’t look that way.

“Dean,” he moves closer, close enough to count the freckles that he loves. “I forgive you, as long as you forgive me.”

“Yeah, Cas, of course.”

“And I want you to know, it meant something to me, you and I. I never thought I would have the chance to feel this way, so I thank you for that.” And Dean steps closer, and Castiel fears he will kiss him, kiss him and make him forget. He sticks out a hand and Dean stares at it. “I want us to be friends, Dean. That would mean a lot to me.”

Dean takes his hand after a moment and shakes it, slowly, firmly, as if this is the first time he’s ever performed the action. And he doesn’t let go, slowly, firmly pumping their clasped hands up and down. There’s something in his eyes, behind his smile, and Castiel feels it as a truth being held back. It would seem they still have things to hide, because the preacher believes his own face looks quite similar, smiling over a discomfort he is not prepared to name.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean stayed away Saturday, and Castiel busied himself planting in the newly cleared beds out back. By noon he came indoors and went about sorting through the crates and bundles of second-hand supplies the kind folks of his parish have given him. There are mismatched plates and books and a lovely mirror with a chip at the bottom. There are linens and jams and more pickled vegetables than he knows what to do with. There’s a sack of flour and a small wooden cross and a hand axe honed to a gleaming edge. The odds and ends are more than he’d realized, and it becomes immediately apparent he doesn’t have anywhere to store it all. Most of the furniture was broken or caked in mold or in some instances, used for kindling. He’ll need to refurnish nearly the entire house. He does what he can, but by sundown most of the boxes have simply been sorted, repacked and moved to other rooms. It looks nearly the same as it did but he feels like there’s progress.

Sunday finds him greeting parishioners as they filter into church, everyone moving to their usual seats as an elderly woman named Gladys plays Come Home, Poor Sinner at the piano up front. He’s just turning back from another welcome when a huge hand claps him on the shoulder and he’s spun around to look up at Sam Winchester’s smiling face.

“Hey Cas, look what we found.” Sam steps aside to drag a sheepish looking Dean from behind his back, pushing the man forward so that they’re face to face. Dean only manages to hold Castiel’s gaze for a moment, looking back to the ground and chewing on a plump lip.

“Dean, welcome.”

Ben runs up then, smiling bright and excited to have his uncles there. Lisa follows, and Castiel notices for the first time that her presence doesn’t fill him with envy. He can see it now, the fraternal easiness between them, Dean smiling at her, offering a hand as she climbs the steps. It is exactly the same regard he gives Jessica, smile and a hand, followed by a joke about Sam going lax in his duties as a husband and an off color joke about the possibility of a baby with green eyes. Sam punches his brother on the shoulder and Jessica laughs and rolls her eyes, and Ben whines that he doesn’t get the joke.

“You’ll have to excuse Dean, Reverend. This is why I don’t bring him around civilized people.” Lisa chides good-naturedly. They all file indoors and sit in their usual spot, the pew tighter now with the addition of the Winchester boys.

The morning isn’t done with surprises though, the very last people through his doors another couple he hasn’t seen here before.

“Reverand Novak, it’s been too long.” Meg purrs and offers a hand, which Castiel takes before turning to shake with Bobby. “Promise me you’ll come by soon for a visit.”

“Of course.”

He hadn’t seen them since their wedding, a small affair that had taken less than an hour and was followed up by a quick round of toasts at Ellen’s saloon before the newlyweds took off back to the Singer ranch. The gossip about the couple had been rampant ever since, the age of the bride, her obvious refinement, Bobby’s utter shock and disbelief when he met the woman for the first time. How Ellen and Rufus had burst out laughing at his expression then blamed each other for it. Castiel had been meaning to call on them but figured they needed time to adjust to one another. He tried not to listen to gossip, but he must admit his own thoughts had drifted more than once to how these two wildly different people might fit together.

From the looks of it….rather well. They were smiling at him, Bobby offering her an arm as they entered the church, and when they took their seats Castiel noticed with some amusement the way Meg fixed her husband’s bowtie, and the way he grumbled but lifted his head a little all the same.

The service flowed smooth and familiar, though perhaps a bit shorter than normal. Castiel tried not to rush, but every time he looked to the right he could see Dean staring at him, tracking his hands when Castiel got expressive, licking his lips and causing the preacher to forget the next passage. He’s sweating beneath his robes and he can’t wait to end the sermon so he can swing open the doors and get a breath of air.

When it’s over, blessedly over, Castiel focused all of his attention on Mrs. Casternack ‘s harrowing tale of the warren of rabbits that decimated her vegetable garden, hoping he appears far too occupied for any of the Winchester clan to attempt words of farewell.

No such luck. It’s Jessica that corners him with a warm smile and an invitation to supper that evening, which he politely declines. Then it’s Sam at his left insisting, and Ben climbing up his uncle’s hip to plead for the distraction of a caller.

“But if you come I don’t have to go to bed till nine and Dean will let me ride with him and steer his horse home all by myself!”

“Oh he will, will he?” Lisa sways into his view and Castiel feels surrounded. “Dean, you letting my son ride that beast of yours when I’m not looking?”

“No ma’am,” then there’s Dean, crowding up next to his brother to pluck Ben from his arms, hoist him up on his shoulders. “Your son’s been drinkin’ again, spinnin’ tall tales about me cause he’s a dirty no good liar.”

“Hey! You did so say I could!” A small heel kicks Dean in the ribs and he winces dramatically. “See the abuse I get Cas? You gotta save me, come over tonight so I have an excuse to open the brandy before supper, we can hide with Sam out back and tell the women you’re converting us sinners.”

“More like trying to corrupt our new Reverend.” Lisa swatted at Dean’s arm, laughing. “You don’t let those boys anywhere near you with a glass, Reverend. Ellen’s been giving them stuff that’d burn the hair off an ox. Poor, foolish Ash got into it with them last week and woke up in the Jefferies’ wood pile.”

They all laughed around Castiel at a memory he didn’t share, the boys teasing one another while the women set plans and no one paid his attempts to protest any mind.

“Six it is Cas.” As Sam slapped a giant paw on his back stating that was that. Dean did the same and let his hand linger with a _See ya, Cas_. None of them seemed to notice the preacher’s cheeks flush scarlet but Dean, who winked as he turned, galloping down the path with a whooping Ben on his shoulders and no space for Castiel to come up with an excuse.

*

Supper was a soup with green beans and the last of the root vegetables, slices of crisp fried ham, salted boiled new potatoes and one small piece each of the game hen Ben had shot and dressed himself, his first. There was cornbread still hot in the skillet and butter sweet from the new spring shoots the cows were finding. It was warm in the kitchen, but nicely so, everyone crowded around the table laughing and mostly trying to outdo one another with increasingly embarrassing tales to share with the Reverend. Cas at the head of the table at Sam’s insistence, with Dean on his right and Lisa beside him and Sam and Jessica to the left. Ben was placed at the end, but couldn’t keep his seat with all the excitement and mostly made a constant orbit around the table, getting snagged by one of the women so they could shove a quick morsel in his mouth or dodging the attacks of his uncles that sought to trap him until he agreed they were the favorite.

It was nice. Castiel had never had family meals such as this. His own family was scattered to the wind, more acquaintances that shared a name, and certainly he couldn’t ever recall any jovial meals or easy conversations between them. He was invited often enough to the homes of parishioners, but nearly all of them saw the occasion as something formal, starched linens and careful grace spoken over piously prepared food. Not too much salt or butter, watered wine and no hard language, no mention of politics, retired home by nine.

The Winchesters were another breed. It was already past nine and he was stuffed with food and from the looks of it Lisa and Jess had more coming. There was whisky and cider, of which he had a bottomless glass of each, both so strong he was dangerously close to drunk. He kept trying to wave them all off, but Dean would press in close and fill his glass and murmur how this was Ellen’s good stuff and she’d be put out if they didn’t enjoy it, the cider from Jessica’s family orchard so it was just manners to take another glass. Lisa was stealth personified, he never actually caught it but somehow she kept his plate full no matter how much he ate and he didn’t think he saw her do it once. He was too distracted by the warm proximity of Dean, of trying not to press too close or inhale too deeply when the man leaned in to whisper some other ribald joke that would have him choking back laughter and looking to see if the ladies had heard. Dean got a wicked little grin any time he could make Castiel blush, he did it again and again until Sam took pity and mentioned that there would be pie.

“I don’t know if I can eat another bite.”

“Come on Cas, there’s always room for pie!” Dean had a firm arm slung around his shoulder while Lisa brought out plates.

“Well maybe, since you went to all the effort. I’ll admit I’m curious, I’ve never tried it before.”

“What, apple pie?” Jessica asked as she cleared off some of the dishes, Sam running a hand over her swollen belly as she passed.

“No any pie.” Dean nearly choked and Sam started laughing heartily for some reason.

“You’ve never had _pie_? How does that happen to a grown man?”

Castiel wasn’t sure if this was something he should be offended by or not. He frowned at Dean, then at the pastry as it was set before him in the middle of the table. “I’ve never had occasion.”

“Lisa cut the Reverend here the biggest slice –“

“Oh no! Please Lisa, just a small –“

“The _biggest_ slice…here you know what let me.” And before he could argue Dean was standing over the pie like it was a new kill and carving a shockingly large slice to plunk in front of Castiel. He sat there grinning, apparently fully intent on watching him take his first bite. Thankfully Lisa took over and began to cut for everyone else while Ben made the case for getting just as big a piece as Cas.

Castiel speared a delicate forkful, locking eyes with Dean for a moment before slipping it past his lips. It was heavenly, and he couldn’t help a small groan and a sigh. When he opened his eyes, for they’d closed despite himself at the taste, Dean was still watching him though his smile had faded some and his eyes had gone dark. Castiel took another bite, it really was very good, and felt Dean’s knee brush his own. He moved his leg away and reached for a sip of cider and just then the whole of Dean’s palm landed on his thigh and squeezed lightly before running up his hip to squeeze again. Castiel sputtered, choking on his drink and gasping for air. Sam pounded at his back while the women cooed if he was okay.

Dean’s hand never left his thigh and the bastard wasn’t ruffled in the least. Castiel turned shock widened eyes on him but from the look of it Dean was expecting _him_ to cover.

“This cider is…very strong.” There were laughs and the conversation started up again, but Castiel couldn’t pull himself together enough to enjoy it, just watched as Dean laughed and chatted with his family as if he was in no way fondling the town preacher right under that very table and in the presence of his wife no less. Castiel knew, he knew very damn well, that this was wildly inappropriate behavior, that he should disengage the hand in question. But he didn’t, took another forkful of pie, then another to cover up his lack of conversation and noticed how every time he did Dean found another spot to squeeze.

His plate was still half full when he begged his leave. They didn’t need to know the real reason he had to escape, the reason that was looking him over with glittering green eyes as if they were the only two people in the room.

“Let me take you home, preacher.” The low drawl teasing. And Castiel is three words into his explanation why he’s perfectly capable of getting himself home alone when the front steps come out of nowhere and snarl his feet so that he’s careening sideways off their porch and stopped from meeting the ground face first by a pair of strong, secure hands.

“Whoa there, looks like Ellen’s hooch is nippin’ at yer heels.”

“I blame your heavy pouring hand.” Castiel grumbles as he shakes Dean off and tries to remember where the horse put his reigns.

“Dean, sweetie, you see he gets home safe. And put to bed right. Gracious the Jefferies will never forgive me if they find another one in their field.”

“Sure thing Lis,” Dean licked his lips and Castiel watched it with a racing heart. “Have Sam see you back and get Ben to bed.”

Somewhere in that conversation Dean’s gotten Castiel mounted to his horse, its reigns tied to the pommel of his own steed.  The only light is the moon and the glint where it catches in a set of eyes that watch him more than the road. The horses seem to know the way.

*

Castiel’s sobered up some by the time they reach his home. They hadn’t said a word, but something’s shifted, they can both feel it. It’s tethered between them like the reigns, pulling one against the other and Castiel can’t breathe. He jumps from his mount, leads it into the stable and unbridles it quicker than he’s ever done before. Dean is still outside, still astride his own horse, watching him in the darkness and Castiel hopes for a moment this means he’ll leave soon.

“Well….evening Dean. And thank you.”

He doesn’t look back, rushes inside. The door is left open so that he can fumble in the dark for matches in the wane light of the moon. He curses them for being hidden. He curses again when he turns to see the shadow in his door, filling the frame, filling the room. He can’t see Dean’s features, just the black hulking mass of him where he stands unmoving and the thing between them tightens and grows.

“Dean.” The silence that follows is unnerving, and Castiel thinks of wolves in the snow, thinks of small creatures that freeze with their fear, hoping to remain unseen. But Dean can see him, he can feel it. “Dean we can’t…..” Castiel is shaking. He tries again. “We can’t have….you shouldn’t have touched me.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you? In front of your wife no less? What if she had seen? Dean we put this aside, it’s wrong, you know that.”

“I know.”

Castiel had the matches in hand, strikes one to light the candle because he doesn’t want to continue this in the dark. But it’s a mistake. The bright flare is unkind to his eyes but worse is the hard expression Dean wears. He looks determined and Castiel whimpers softly because he knows that look, the heavy jut of his cock responding like it’s been trained. He lets the match sputter out, and as his eyes adjust again there are footsteps, boot heels echoing on the cold floor. The door is shut.

“Ain’t nobody ever twisted me up like you Cas.” God he’s so close, and it’s still too dark to see his face but Castiel is so _aware_ of him, vibrating with his presence like a tuning fork. “I think about you all day, and at night I think about how I used to touch you, how good you felt. You were always so fucking perfect under my hands and I touch myself thinking of you but it’s not the same and it’s making me crazy. I need you to know, when I see you in town, see you up in your pulpit, stand near you, share a meal, the only thing I can think of is how much I want to drag you off somewhere and fuck you dirty and slow till you can’t stand.” Castiel whimpers again, loud enough for Dean to hear.

“Dean you’re married and I –“

“S’not like that, me ‘n Lisa. We don’t share a bed, just a roof and four walls. Only thing we got between us is carin’ for that boy. So I can’t leave them, but I don’t love her….never did.” A hand wraps around the back of Castiel’s neck, hot breath against his lips. “Tell me you don’t want me. Just tell me to go and I’ll go, never bother you again. Just say it Cas.”

“Dean, _please_.”

“You have to say it cause I can’t. I can’t be near you if you don’t say it. I’ll listen, I swear, you just gotta -“

He’s cut off by Castiel’s mouth crashing into his own. They each sob with relief at the contact, sucking and biting at each other’s mouths, frenzied and wet. But while Castiel has twisted his hands under Dean’s duster to pull and grab at whatever he can reach, Dean holds back, the one hand still clasped firmly at the back of the preacher’s neck, but the other a fist at his side, shaking in time with the rest of his body. Somehow he pulls away to look down at Cas, but the preacher gasps and pulls him back in hard. Another full minute is lost before he manages to do it again, this time holding the man firm by the scruff of his neck to keep him in place.

“Wait, Cas! You gotta….” And he struggles for the words because he’s so turned on right now he feels like he could scream. “I’m not gonna stop this time, you get me?”

Castiel made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t want you to stop, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t let go. “I mean you gotta be sure, if we keep going preacher, I’m gonna fuck you.”

Castiel slid both hands up Dean’s back, pressing their hips together as he moans. “ _Yesss_. Dean yes _fuck_ me, I need you to.”

“ _Dammit!_ ” The sound of Cas cussin’ lights Dean’s blood on fire. He’s given the man a chance, he’s done what he can to be decent about this, but with that assent, the last reserves of his composure are depleted.

He attacks Castiel’s clothes, stripping him of the long coat his always wears then moving to tear open his vest, buttons skittering across the floor. Next the bowtie is tugged off and the soft lawn shirt rucked up and peeled over Cas’ head. Now that he’s naked from the waist up, Cas moves in to kiss Dean, but the sheriff is a thing possessed. He grabs the preacher by his hips and hauls him up onto the kitchen table, pulling off his boots and socks before pushing him to his back and making short work of his trousers.

In the moonlight, Castiel’s skin glows almost blue where he’s laid out on the worn tabletop, a pagan feast. Dean stands over him, still fully dressed from hat to spurs and takes a moment to just look while Castiel trembles beneath him with the anticipation and the chill of the night air. His cock shifts impatiently where it lies heavy and hard on his belly and Dean’s aches in sympathy.

“I thought about exactly this Cas, when I fixed this table. I made it good an’ strong, imagined spreading you out just like this.”

He leaned in then, and Castiel was rapt with anticipation, with the hot breath along his shaft. But he doesn’t get the wet enveloping heat he’s expecting, half insane for. Dean palms his ass in both hands, spreading him apart, and without any tease or warning is lapping full, long stripes across his pink little hole. It unleashes a flood of curses, gasps, pleading. He never knew…never knew it could feel like this. Castiel arches and writhes on the table, then Dean begins to spear him with his tongue, curl it around the inside of him until he’s white-knuckling the sides of the table and screaming _DeanDeanDeanDeanDEAN_!!

What’s killing him is that he can’t even _see_ Dean, hidden behind the wall of his wide brimmed hat that brushes a tormenting circle along his thighs and belly in time with Dean’s wicked mouth. He feels the circling of a finger and makes to say something, but forgets the moment it presses in slow.

“Shit Cas you’re on fire. Gonna get you nice an’ open for me, gonna make you feel so good.”

“Take yer blasted hat off!” It’s the only full sentence he can manage before fingers and tongue are back to task, caressing and stretching, thumb massaging his rim until he’s reduced again to pleading Dean’s name.

“Nah, I like it like this. All mine.” Castiel wonders what he even means, but not too hard since now there are two fingers breaching him and thought is useless. God it feels like forever before Dean stands abruptly and leaves him puddled on the kitchen table to root around his cabinets.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Dean laughs lowly at Castiel’s utter incredulity at being left.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, gotta make this good for you.” He finds what he’s after, turning back with the jar of cooking oil Missouri had given him.

“What is that-?” But his question is answered when Dean pours some into his hand, slipping two greased fingers back into the preacher easy as anything. “ _Oh_ , oh yes this is much better!”

“Hehe…just wait.” Soon there’s three. It’s almost too much before it isn’t anymore, the burn giving way under the constant thrust of Dean’s knowing fingers.

“Aahh! Dean I think I’m gonna –“

“Not yet sweetheart, you can’t come until I’m inside you.”

“Dean!” They both know what the plea means.

“Alright Cas, I got you.” He leaves his fingers in place as he unbuckles his holster and lowers it to the floor, undoes his belt and pants with a shaking hand. Castiel tries to prop up, but it’s too dark to get a proper look. Dean finally removes his fingers to pour more oil in his hand, slick up his cock, and it’s only now that Castiel gets a glimpse, shining slick and demanding as it thrusts out from the shadows of Dean’s coat into the tunnel of his hand. He shivers, suddenly unsure how it will ever fit.

Dean takes hold of his thighs, shifts him forward so his ass is half hanging off the table. “Wrap your legs around me Cas….yeah like that. And don’t close yer eyes, okay?  I need to watch you.”

Castiel does as he’s told, “Yeah…okay.”

With his guiding hand, Dean slides around Castiel’s hole until he’s found his mark, then presses…presses… pushes against him insistently until Castiel doesn’t think it will work. He breathes in deep and tries to relax, starting up into green eyes that watch him close the entire time. He nods, and Dean presses harder until finally the blunt head of his cock makes it past that constricting ring of muscle.

“You okay?” Dean sounds wrecked. Castiel has no way of understanding if he’s okay or not, he just knows that he can’t stop. He barely starts nodding before Dean is sliding in deeper, slowslowslow but still splitting him apart and fitting him back together around the pulsing length that’s taking over his insides. The sensation is….strange, burning intrusion with the flicker of pleasure and he’s sure that if Dean would only start moving it would get so much better.

“Jesus fucking Christ Cas,” he snaps his hips once and they both gasp. Again and Castiel cries out so filthy desperate Dean has nothing left in him strong enough to hold back any longer. One arm wrapped around Cas’ waist from below does the job of holding the preacher in place through the syncopated thrusts of Dean’s hips, while the other sheaths Castiel’s rock hard erection with oil slick digits and works him fast and rough. Dean can’t hold it together much longer and he’ll be damned if Cas doesn’t follow him down. No more intelligible words, just the industry of skin meeting skin, the harmony of gut deep groans and grunts, the building pressure inside each of them. And Dean either has an excellent sense of timing or is lucky as a new penny because when he yells a high brass note he’s joined a heartbeat later by the low staccato moaning of Castiel as each man is coiled then released with the devastating pleasure in his own way.

When they’re aware enough to move, Dean props up from where he’s collapsed on top of Castiel.

“You okay?” There’s a soft note of worry in his voice that brings Castiel back down to earth. Is he okay?

“More than okay. I feel….very good right now Dean.”

“Yeah?” He smiles as he kisses the preacher, soft and sweet. “Sit up.”

Castiel complies as Dean pulls his hand, ducking down as he keeps pulling and in the next moment Castiel is slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Hey!”

Dean stalks across the room with a naked preacher clutched in one arm while the other strokes possessively up and down his pale flank. “Didn’t think that was it, did you?”

Castiel wonders what it says about him that he’s rapidly getting hard again from the sound of Dean’s spurs jingling as he marches up the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

“Dean! You in there?!”

Castiel bolts up in panic from where he’d been lying tranquilly in Dean’s arms watching the sunrise paint the walls a moment before.

“Shit.” Dean swings his legs over the bed and begins to pull on his pants, hopping a bit to shimmy himself in. He lays a firm kiss on Cas’ worried lips. “It’s just Sam, but if he’s here it means something’s up.”

“Sam?” Castiel begins to scramble, remembering that his clothes from the night before are all still decorating the kitchen floor. “He’s not coming in is he? And how does he know you’re here?”

“Don’t worry angel, Sam’s known how I feel about you for a while now. He’s sharp enough to figure out where I spent the night.”

“And he doesn’t….does anyone else know?” Castiel struggles to put on a clean set of clothes as quickly as possible. Dean stops what he’s doing, shirt still lying open but guns in place, and wraps his arms around Castiel to still him, settle him with a slow kiss that deepens between them despite themselves. By the time they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair Sam is shouting again.

“Dean your goddamned horse is here, stop ignoring me an’ get yer ass down here!”

“You got nothin’ to worry about Cas, Sam’s on our side. Probably set us up seein’ as last night’s supper was his idea. Tidy the kitchen an’ get some coffee on.” He steals another quick kiss as Castiel makes an irritated face.

“Yes _dear_.”

Dean hurries outside with a bang of the front door, and Castiel can hear them talking quietly between themselves as he runs about gathering the evidence and stowing it in another room. He pauses when spies the jar of cooking oil, then again when he finally takes a seat at the table, lowering himself carefully into the chair with a noticeable grimace. Meals in this room would never feel the same. A set of feet pounds up his steps and Dean bursts in, a tight look on his face.

“Coffee’s gonna have to wait, I gotta go into town with Sam.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Nothin’ you need to worry about, someone causing a ruckus at Ellen’s, someone that needs remindin’ that I kicked his sorry ass out of here with orders not to show his ugly hide ‘round these parts ever again. But I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yes, okay. Be careful.” Dean winks at him and then he’s gone.

*

Sheriff Winchester knew the signs when there was trouble about, and a brightly colored klatch of Ellen’s whores standing out in the street when they should be airing out the sheets from last night was in the top three. He noticed too their grumbling customers milling around, some of them still fumbling with their buttons and the regular morning citizens looking appropriately shocked. He had some idea of what was up, but it was always good to go in with all the facts. He spotted Lillith in the fold, the lone bit of calm in the flurry of women clutching their shawls and whispering to each other in fear.

Lillith always put him on edge, he had asked Ellen more than once why she kept the woman on, but had always gotten something vague that added up to the two of them having some history together and how at least under her roof Ellen could keep an eye on her. “Besides, she’s my best earner.” No shock there, Lillith was lovely and refined in a way you didn’t much see in whores outside a big city, but she had flat dead eyes and a smile like a knife wound and Dean had always gotten the impression the only reason she wasn’t regularly murdering her customers for entertainment was that she owed something to Ellen. Dean strolled up with Sam by his side and the flurry of chatter died immediately.

“Mind tellin’ me if the rumors are true?” Lillith never even bothered trying to charm Dean anymore but she was always good when you needed a cool head about.

“If you mean is Azazel Jones in there tryin’ to get yer attention by shooting Jim Pritchett in the leg and breaking all the glassware, then yeah…you heard right.”

“Damn it. Well where’s Ellen?” Lillith arched a bored brow.

“Inside trying to keep him from shooting holes in her woodwork.”

Now Dean’s just seeing red, and Sam doesn’t need to guess twice at his mood as he stalks over to that saloon, his is much the same.

The doors swing open as Dean makes his entrance. Azazel turns from his perch at the bar to lean back, lazy smile but gun still trained on Ellen who’s scowling black as tar at him but still keeping the whisky flowing. Poor Jim is slouched on the floor moaning and grabbing at his leg, the blood pooling and spreading through the cracks in the wood.

“He shot me sheriff! That man there shot me over an honest game and you should _arrest_ him! I’m pressing charges, arrest him!”

Dean doesn’t take his eyes off Azazel and the man flashes his broken yellow teeth.

“Jim yer the one fool enough to play cards with this bastard in the first place. Can you stand?” The man makes a few strangled noises but doesn’t much try.

“I don’t think so sheriff, yer gonna hafta carry me.” Sam snorts a bit at that.

“We was just talkin’ about you Sheriff and Deputy Winchester,” Azazel cocks his gun, sensing Ellen’s move for her shotgun under the bar. She freezes. “My daddy n’ me think you’ve done a real fine job with this here town. Real fine. He was talkin’ about paying you a visit soon, hopes you’ll be more agreeable than yer father was.”

“You tell that cocksucker Alastair that he sets foot over the town line and I will shoot him dead on the spot. And as for you, I warned you last time about comin’ ‘round here.”

“Yeah I remember you didn’t say please.” Azazel rubs at his nose as if he can still feel it broken.

“That _was_ me sayin’ please, now you got three seconds to clear out before I give you a few more holes.”

Sam’s a rock by his side, but Sam is always the only man he wants with him in a spot like this. Azazel doesn’t seem in any hurry to comply and that’s when they hear the shots from outside.

He brought men.

The other reason Sam’s the best partner there is, is that Dean didn’t need to turn at the commotion, Sam’s got it covered and is out the door and Azazel wasn’t counting on his distraction falling short. He swings around to aim at Dean, but the sheriff’s too quick, two shots to the head and the man slumps against the bar.

“Ellen, cover the back.” She’s on it with a nod.

The shots are coming fast and furious, the screams of the townsfolk dying out as they all scramble for cover. Dean rushes to flatten himself against the wall by the window. He takes a quick peak then ducks down to look out from under the swinging doors on his other side. Sam’s pinned down behind a pile of crates to the left, taking careful aim at the three…four…five men spread out on the other side of the street. One more is face down in the road and as Dean watches another falls under his brother’s deadeye aim.

“Sam! You get left I get right.” And he doesn’t need to wait for a reply. He bursts through the door, each gun trained on a man and he has them down and choking on their own blood in under five seconds. Sam’s always been more calculating, catching each man in a bead until he can get a perfect shot.

They take control of the street, covering each other as they seek out any more of Alastair’s goons hiding between the buildings. Rufus comes out of his smith with a skinny one dangling from one hand. The young guy is twisting like a fish on a line, but Rufus is terrifyingly strong and isn’t put off in the least.

“Found this one tryin’ to get away. Where you want him?” The kid looks mad enough to spit nails and curses them all to hell, screaming how Alastair was gonna introduce them to the Devil. Dean knocks him out with a punch to the jaw.

“He’s a loud one, ain’t he?” Sam gives him a disapproving look that might hold some weight if he hadn’t just killed three men. Sometimes it was hard to keep up with the spin of his moral outrage compass. “What?”

*

Castiel had once read one of the lurid wild west stories that were printed with smeary ink on cheap paper and seemed to be a favorite of young boys with dreams of flint hard quick draw artists that ruled the plains with a six shooter and nerves of steel. He’d found it in one of the pews one Sunday afternoon, left by such a boy no doubt and it had made for a pleasant enough diversion but he was realizing now how very much had been left out from its description of those fabled noon day shootouts.

Namely cleanup.

With no families to claim them it was left to the able bodied men about town to gather up the dead and get them six feet deep. Castiel was still sweating from labor when he panted a few words over the graves. Bobby had a look like he was the height of civility simply for not spitting on them.

In town everyone had a hand in sweeping glass and scrubbing blood or bringing out food and drinks to those who were while those unable stood around repeating their portion of the story. Jim Pritchett held court just outside the Doc’s office with his bad leg propped on a grain bail and a look of heroic woe for anyone who passed.

Dean and Sam had left almost immediately after to haul Alastair’s man to the county jail and then search the area for any signs of the gang.

“How long do you think they’ll be gone?” Castiel asked and Bobby just shrugged and sighed without looking up.

“Them boys have been after Alastair since…well hell since their daddy was still alive. An’ I’ll tell you Reverend, much as I want them slap that bastard in irons, there ain’t never been anyone that gets me sleepless for those boys more than Alastair fucking Jones.” Bobby wiped the sweat from his brow and met Castiel’s gaze with resolute concern. “John used to call the men he went after demons but hell if he didn’t get it on the money with that one.”

“What has he done?” Bobby laughed short and bitter, squinting up at the afternoon sun.

“You got some way a body can sin against God and man, Alistair’s done it in spades. Rumor was he used to be a business man from New York, got into security, guarding shipments with a posse he hand selected for their….talents. Some figure that he realized how much easier it was to just use his men to rob those same kinds of shipments, moved onto banks, shit at this point most outlaws would be retired in luxury somewhere below the border, but I don’t think Alistair does it for money.”

“Then why does he?”

“He likes it. He likes puttin’ fear into folk, likes tearing ass around the plains and leaving a trail of mutilated dead in his wake.”

“Mutilated?” Castiel felt sick.

“Oh yeah, his latest venture has been straight blackmail. He picks a nice little town thriving just a little too far from the nearest state marshal and runs through it like the devil on horseback, gets the local sheriff to ‘protect’ his town by paying a tidy sum to his gang every month to keep them away. He’s left so many lawmen carved up, tied down spread eagle and missing so much skin they barely look human. But my apologies Reverend, this ain’t decent conversation.”

“No, no. I- “ Castiel swallows around the lump in his throat. “This is my home now too, it’s only right I know the dangers posed to my flock.”

“Come on Reverend,” Bobby slaps a compassionate hand on his shoulder. “We need a drink.”

For being the center of that morning’s excitement, Ellen’s saloon made off with none too much damage. The glass was cleaned, the tables righted. The only evidence there’d been any problem two thick patches of sawdust covering what Castiel guessed must be blood and a pissed off Ellen yelling at her girls to quit gossipin’ and get back to work. Times like these men tended to want to relieve a little tension.

“Bobby, you want somethin’ you get it yerself! Ruby, Mr. Carson’s waitin’ on you, get yer ass upstairs and make sure he pays up front! This ain’t a blasted charity.” Ellen grumbled as she stalked about the room, terrifying everyone back into order. Bobby wasn’t fazed, slipped behind the bar and poured the two of them shots, which they both tossed back immediately. He poured another.

“Now don’t you worry about those boys too much, John never gave Alistair an inch and he taught those boys well. ‘Bout the only thing of value he left them. And they’ve done a fine job of keepin’ that black bastard out of here, those other lawmen was soft folk, fools that thought the badge was enough to protect them from someone like Alistair. Sam ‘an Dean, they’re tough sons of bitches, they know this terrain better’n anyone, if that gang is out there, they’ll find them.”

Castiel brooded “But just the two of them? Shouldn’t you be sending other men with them?”

This gets a real laugh from Bobby, “The Winchesters? They could send the Calvary out with them and those boys would still leave them in the dust. Alistair’s not the only one got a reputation ‘round these parts. They’ll be fine.” Castiel isn’t convinced. “Know what Reverend, you should come up to the house for supper tonight, I’m sure the Missus would enjoy it.”

It sounded like a welcome distraction.

“Why yes, thank you Bobby that would be lovely. And how is Meg, may I ask?”

“Fine, fine.” Bobby rubs at his neck where it’s coloring and looks down at the bar. “You know, I was mighty skeptical when I seen what Dean brought me but, she’s uhh….she’s alright.”

Castiel smiled at Bobby and the men raised their drinks in toast, keeping silent on what each man was drinking to.

*

“I’m really glad you came Castiel, I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

Supper had been pleasant and blessedly casual. Meg was still getting her hand at cooking so each man ignored the toughness of the meat and the burnt bottom of the bread. Afterwards Bobby headed for the barn while Meg and Castiel rocked on the porch.

“So tell me Meg, how are you getting on as the new Mrs. Singer?” She smiled at him knowingly.

“You fishing for details about how I’ve been fairing in the marriage bed?” Castiel spluttered and blushed and Meg just laughed at him. “I can see it on every face in town, and preacher, it has caused me no end of entertainment.”

“I’m sure they mean well by it, you’re just…not what they were expecting.”

“No, I suppose not.” And they watch the sun set in amiable silence, the creak of the rockers and the cricket song filling the space of their thoughts. “My family never knew what to make of me either. They raised me to be just like my sisters, pretty, stupid women only fit for the arm of some wealthy bastard that would elevate the family name. I was never going to marry for love, and I’m not some sort of fool romantic that even wanted it. Love sounds like a disease. I wanted freedom, purpose, and I would have none of that as Mrs. Reginald Crumbsley.”

“Was that….your betrothed? What a horrible name.” They both laugh a bit too loud and up ahead Bobby poked his head out of the barn then ducked back in when Meg waves.

“You should have seen him, he was so perfumed and frilly and pompous. He didn’t want a wife, he wanted a pet only just smart enough to keep the staff in line. I think I would have killed myself or him if I’d gone through with the wedding. But here, I’m useful here. Bobby trusts me with things that are important and if I can’t make it work we starve. Is it….is it strange that I enjoy that?”

Castiel considers this carefully. “No, I suppose not. The Lord looks favorably on honest hard work.”

“Does he now?” She says with an arched brow and a lopsided smile. “Well I’m glad he approves.”

“And Bobby?” The real question is understood.

“I like Bobby, truly. Winchester was right, he’s not much to look at, but he’s honest and he doesn’t treat me like I’m something that might break. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a grumpy old coot and we bicker something fierce most every day, but I don’t know…I think I’m better suited to vinegar then sugar.” She looks at him knowingly then. “Speaking of Winchester. How are you and the sheriff getting on?”

“I…whatever do you mean?” He hopes she doesn’t notice how pale he’d just gotten.

“Mmmm, yes whatever could I mean….Castiel, I consider you a friend, and I don’t say that about a great many people at all. You needn’t pretend with me. We spent endless weeks together in that hateful little coach and Garth may be dumb as a sack of rocks but I’m not.”

Panic bleeds up his body like mercury, but he considers it a moment. Meg enjoyed being wickedly clever but she was always direct, never manipulative. And he does consider her a friend so his first thought isn’t to lie to her, it’s how far he can trust her with the truth. The neat row of things he has to lose are lined up in front of this woman, his reputation, his livelihood, his safety. This, he thinks, must be what finding faith feels like to the unbeliever, it’s funny how he never felt uncertainty in the face of his Holy Father but this tiny woman in a cotton flower dress is shining a light on his cracks. He takes a deep breath and chooses faith.

“I don’t know what we are Meg. I had always been told how complicated matters between two people could get, but I never really understood until now.”

And he’s rewarded and deeply relieved when she doesn’t do anything other than offer him a look of genuine understanding. “Do you love him?”

“I don’t know if I’m allowed.” He answers honestly. “He’s married, and it’s not the typical arrangement but I still feel conflicted.”

“Oh I know all about Lisa,” She chuckles to herself. “Bobby’s hard as a horseshoe in winter but that man is a clucking mother hen about those boys. Hell I could likely give you their height and hat size if you asked me. I’m probably not the best person to give advice to a preacher. I’m more of a do what you want till the Devil catches you kind of gal.”

Castiel looks about at the orderly homestead, the black hair tied in a plain bun and hound dog at her feet looking up at her with loving eyes. She laughs at seeing the train of his thoughts.

“Oh don’t you judge me Reverend Novak, this here is the very pinnacle of scandal for the Masters’ clan! These hands know how to play four instruments and were made to soak in rosewater every night so using them to care for livestock is right now giving my silly mother fits!”

They laugh about it, then let the companionable silence melt over them with the sunset. Castiel feels immeasurably better for having someone to confide in.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be so hard on Garth.  He’s a good man.”

“I don’t trust anyone who smiles that much, it’s not natural.”

“Come on now Meg, he’s happy in life, we should all wish to find such easy happiness.”

Meg smiled her feline smile, “Now where would be the fun in that?”

*

“ _Sonovabitch_!”

Dean kicked the pile of fire blackened logs, now cold, sending a flurry of ash into the air. This had been their last lead on Alistair’s gang, not a one of the people they’d questioned had been brave enough to confirm what they thought might be the man in question camping out on their land. Just pointed in the general direction and wished them God speed.

“They got two days on us at least, Dean. No way we can catch them without help on the other end slowing them up and we aren’t even sure which way they went.”

They were going to ground, he knew it in his bones. Just like he knew Alistair wouldn’t take his son’s shooting lying down. They’d needed to find the man quick, before he had time to collect and plan, but now it was going to be a waiting game and fuck if that didn’t mean eight kinds of trouble when the bastard finally showed his face.

“Fuck! I hate this cocksucker so much. What do you think Sammy, house or hills?”

“Hills, word’s gotta be out pretty far by now, we woulda heard somethin’ if they’d holed up in some town. An there ain’t nothin’ off the map with a roof that could support ‘em all. He’s gone, Dean. Back to wherever the fuck he gets to after a job.”

“Yeah, yer probably right. Shit they live easy like the goddamned Comanche out there, if I didn’t want to rip his heart right out of his chest so bad I might respect the guy.”

The boys gave the abandoned camp one more sweep before mounting up.

“Come on, I want to get back to my bed.”

“Don’t you mean your pretty wife, didn’t you get that poor girl knocked up enough?” Sam made a face.

“Like you’re one to talk, don’t think you have me fooled for a moment that you’re spending tonight under your own roof. Ain’t that so?”

Dean tried to glare his brother down but Sam just smiled right back at him, smug as a fox with a hen.

“Not talkin’ ‘bout it!” The colorful name he called his brother lost to the wind as he tore off ahead of him in the direction of Lawrence.

*

If Dean had a bit more pride he might have stayed more than an hour at home checking that Lisa and Ben were well before giving his brother the satisfaction of proving him right. Not that Sam would know immediately, Lisa was an independent sort and it wasn’t in her to mind if her husband as away from home for any length of time. He was there for supper and afterwards pulled Ben up on his lap to tell him just enough of his uncles’ hunt for outlaws as his mother would allow. Then he was set to work on his spelling and Dean kissed Lisa quick on the cheek as he was out the door. She didn’t look up from her sewing when she mumbled goodbye.

He traveled along the outskirts of town to get to Cas, and even this was too long to wait, but his horse had been ridden to the ground for the last few days and now that it saw home it was in no mood to move any faster, no matter how much Dean cursed it.

Castiel was out the door and in his arms the moment he pulled up. God it was such a relief, and he almost left his steed to wander unhitched now that his angel was kissing him desperate and pulling him inside. But he suffered through another few minutes of chore putting the beast away with the knowledge that now he could have all night.

They tangled in the doorway, Dean not even making it over the threshold before he was stripping the preacher.

“Dean! _Ungh_! I haven’t slept I’ve been – get inside!”

“Too far, think I’m gonna take you right here.” Dean had a hand down the front of Castiel’s pants and was pulling roughly at his cock. Castiel pressed back against the door frame, one leg propping up against the other side to create a better angle. Dean wrapped an arm under his thigh, up behind his hip to hold him in place and jerked him fast. Their mouths slid desperately against each other, starving. Castiel’s release came on like lightening, searing through him and bleaching his vision. As he came back down, panting against Dean’s shoulder, he realized they were moving. He was unsure how his legs knew how to function just then.  They were in the parlor, Dean already half naked.

“Take off your clothes.” God he’d never known a voice could do such things to him, Dean sounded pained and commanding. Castiel had never followed an order so quickly in his life. Dean had made it as far as his pants before he strode out of the room, and Castiel heard the sounds of a man who knew exactly what he was after, stalking back with oil jar in hand. “Turn around.”

Trembling, skin on fire, he did, and Dean wasted no time encircling his hips with an arm and all but lifting him onto the settee, knees rubbing the worn nap of the second hand velvet, hands braced against the curving wood back. A wool clad thigh pushed between Castiel’s legs as Dean worked to free his erection while slicking up his fingers. This time he wasn’t gentle, and Castiel couldn’t have been more grateful. Hard worn fingers speared into him, spreading him quick and greedy. Castiel arched back into them, keening as a wet mouth latched onto his neck to bite and suck. Dean was fumbling around behind him, removing fingers then mouth and Castiel would have cried if he had to wait much longer.

“ _Pleeease_ Dean you’re – _shit_!” He was impaled, burning up from the core.

“Fucking Christ darlin’ you’re so tight! Sorry…I’m sorry, I’ll go slower.” Dean kissed little apologies for his impatience around Castiel’s ear and jaw.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” And Cas snapped his hips back so hard he nearly bucked Dean backwards off the settee. “I couldn’t – _ugnh_ –feel you anymore. Make me feel you!”

This goddamned country preacher was gonna kill him. Dean set his jaw as he draped himself over Castiel’s back. Jerked him back onto his cock with each thrust, pounding into the wailing preacher like he could cleave them together. He slid a hand down to grip the man’s leaking cock, hard again and perfect in his hand. It was barely a dozen strokes before Castiel sobbed with his second release, muscles spasming hungry, constricting the cock stuttering inside him, ripping the orgasm Dean’s from his bones.

This time Castiel was allowed to walk up the stairs himself, this time when the sun rose there were no intruders to pull Dean away. This time they didn’t bother with clothing for a whole day, barely remembering to eat. And when Dean’s bare foot stepped on a button, the tricky one that had gone missing on Castiel the morning after their first time together, Castiel called him a hero and sat rather femininely on his haunch across the newly christened settee, for his ass was too sore for any other position. He sewed it back in place with the little skill he had, just as crooked as its brothers and Dean teased him and made him try it on and threatened with beautiful dark eyes that he would make sure every one of the preacher’s buttons would find a need to be re-sewn. It would be their secret keepsake, and Castiel imagined wearing such a vest on the pulpit on Sunday, begged Dean through his laughter to leave his garments in peace but felt the hot thrill all the same.

And even when they retired that night to separate beds in separate homes, each man spent whole minutes staring at the ceiling, wondering at a happiness they’d long since thought would never be for them.


	8. Chapter 8

The weeks into May were a dream, Castiel and Dean spent as many nights as they could in each other’s arms, making good use of his lack of neighbors nearby. And when they weren’t twisted up together in the dark, Dean spent every moment he could doing other things with Cas, finally teaching him to fish, teaching him to shoot a pistol with each hand, even shocking the bloomers off the church ladies when he agreed to help them with their charity knitting by winding the yarn with them in front of the general store. Sam had laughed his ass off when he spied him, but Dean considered himself justified when they paid him in pie. Besides, that whole afternoon he got to listen to Cas as he read the women Psalms in his sand and sin voice.

The only good to come out of Alistair Jones skulking about their territory was that it had the damn near impressive effect of keeping all the other lowlifes in line. Nobody was getting away with shit all when every lawman in a hundred miles was suddenly so quick on the draw. And in a town lucky as Lawrence to have men such as the Winchesters about, things were downright pastoral. Any other time such as this would’ve seen Dean tearing off in a cloud of dust to find the nearest bit of trouble to get himself tangled into, but now he had a reason to stay, and to be mighty thankful for the long stretching days with not much to do other than bury himself in Castiel.

Castiel for his part, had taken to praying with much more regularity than he ever had as a wandering preacher with no other companion other than a silent God. It would trouble him at times, times when Dean wasn’t around to kiss him thoughtless, just how happy, how complete he felt and just how little their relationship bothered him. He had been truthful with Dean that day when he’d told him he’d worked this side of his nature out with God. He had, but he was realizing that those beliefs had come to him in times of solitude, hand in hand with the conviction that he was never going to have to test them in any practical way. What did it say about him that he stood before his congregation every week and told them to be good and honest people while at the same time catching the eye of a man he would that same night fall into bed with?

Writ on paper what he was doing with the sheriff was scandalously wicked, a married man, a pillar of the community and him a servant of the Lord. But the part that troubled him most was how little trouble he had making it all fit nice and snug into his sense of moral equilibrium. Lisa and Dean were no more than brother and sister in their regard, and nearly the whole town knew it, so he was not luring a constant man away from his vows. Dean suffered as he did from the loneliness that had etched its way through their lives, but now, with each other, they could be happy, even though that happiness relied on secrets to survive. In the end they were better for it, that’s what he told himself at least, until the idle conversation started.

Dean had mentioned it, as he did most things, as a joke. A tease to ruffle Castiel’s feathers just so he might have the pleasure of smoothing them back down in some delicious way. This one is shocked Dean Winchester has finally made a friend. That one has never known a preacher to take such a focused interest in one of his flock. Shame he goes about unmarried, that one, fine looking man that he is, what he needs is a lovely young thing to make him a husband.

Dean, knowing these people all his life as he did, knew with certainty that none of this gossip about the new preacher meant a one of them had any clue about what they were up to, they had simply exhausted themselves on all the other citizens and were just amusing themselves with a new bauble to turn over with their endless natter. But it made Castiel anxious. He could talk himself into a cozy acceptance that his relations with Dean were not sinful, but he was smart enough to know that the rest of the town would not feel the same if they knew.

“They’ll send me away if they find out, if they don’t shoot me first.” He fretted, not for the first time.

“Now don’t you worry none,” the sheriff’s clever mouth trailing a line of distraction down the column of Castiel’s throat. “Ain’t nobody gonna look at you cross eyed or they’ll have hell to pay with me.”

“I want to be good for them, do right by these folks – _oh_!” Dean smiled as he found the spot that never failed to curl Cas’ toes.

“You are good Cas, so fucking _good_.” And he accentuated this with a slow rolling grind of his hips. Cas moaned and needed a minute to find the thread of his conversation.

“You know what I mean. I mean –“ Dean hitched up Cas’ leg and slid into him smooth as silk. Castiel was still loose and slick with oil and come from earlier. Dean knew he won that round when Cas’ eyes rolled back in his head and he melted into the mattress.

“Someone will find out eventually.” Starting up again when they had finished as if they weren’t two piles of twitching muscle covered in sweat.

“Well then,” Dean propped his head in his hand to look down at the preacher’s face, still too fuzzy with bliss to look concerned. “Maybe you just get yerself hitched, that’ll stop the tongue waggin’.”

“Married?” Castiel was appalled, “Dean I can’t marry someone just to throw off possible suspicion about us, it would be wholly wrong.” Dean shrugs as much as his position allows.

“Married men seek out some extra comfort all the time, Ellen’s got a healthy business to prove it. ‘Sides, might be nice, could have some kids, put down roots…” There’s something else behind those words, Castiel can hear it in their brittleness, in the way Dean can’t look him in the eye. He waits, for he’s figured out by now that sometimes Dean needs silence more than cajoling to draw him out. The man flops back down and stares at the ceiling, finding it too hard to look at Castiel.

“I _know_ , Cas. Alright?”

“Know what?”

“’Bout all them other churches, all the times you packed up an’ moved on. You ain’t stayed in one spot for more’n two years. Had a lot of broodin’ to get through when we got to town an’ you wasn’t speakin’ to me, so I got Ash to help me telegraph all the places you been, called in a lot of favors in a lot of towns, got a pretty good idea of how you ended up in Boston.”

Castiel doesn’t know how to feel about this. He sighs. “I told you I wasn’t a very good preacher.”

The silence hangs over them, saturated with the each other’s unspoken words.

“You think I’m going to leave again.”

“I mean,” Dean does his best to sound casual “You always done it before, an’ not like there’s anything much worth stayin’ here for if you got the itch to leave again.”

Castiel turns on his side, runs a cool hand up Dean’s chest, feels it fill with his breath. He still doesn’t look at Cas.

“And you think if I was married I’d be more likely to stay.” Dean just shrugs, so Cas kisses him. “I’d stay for you Dean, you’re more than worth staying for.”

But Dean only looks at him like he doesn’t believe it. “I want to be with you Cas, but you know I can’t leave Lisa, and if it’s gonna make you uneasy….”

“It does, but obviously not so much that I’ve stayed away from you. But if _I_ were to marry, the circumstances would be different. My wife would expect things of me and I can’t….I couldn’t divide my affection like that, sleep in two beds, I’m not made that way. If I were to marry, then this would have to end.”

They remained there for the rest of the hour, unsettled in each other’s arms and feeling as though nothing had been resolved.

*

June came and went without anyone much noticing. With the warmer weather, some folks tended to get a bit rowdy, so Dean found himself called upon more and more to exercise his position. But he came ‘round regular to see Cas, he built simple furniture for him so that the place began to look like more of a home.

The church was thriving. Castiel was an excellent speaker and so personable that soon the straggling members that had wandered off from the fold found themselves back in the Sunday pews once more. He knew everyone’s name now, he knew their children’s names and who was sick and whose crops weren’t faring so well and who needed to borrow a penny for the collection plate this week so they could keep up appearances. The Miltons came ‘round and Castiel could see the effort they put into makin’ sure their eldest daughter was always scrubbed bright and shining any time she was near him. He made sure to keep them at arm’s length.

By July Castiel’s home was simple but complete, and the moment they lost this excuse for Dean to come over for long stretches of time, a prison break two counties over called Sam and Dean away for more than a week as they helped the marshal track down convicts. When he returned, things were different. There was less time for them, it was harder for Dean to get away, and so he came and went with the wind, oftentimes out the door again before the sheets had cooled. It began to eat at Castiel.

Like today.

Castiel ran the back of his hand down the brown fabric of Dean’s vest as the man yanked on his boots. He’s not sure Dean can even feel the caress, but that’s fine. How does he say it’s getting harder? The time between when Dean gets his hands on Castiel to when he has to let go far too short when compared to all the rest of the day he needs to fill with the actions of a single man, waiting alone.

“I wish you could stay.” It came out well, steady with not a hint of whining desperation. Dean doesn’t turn around, the boots giving him issue.

“Lisa’ll be waiting, she wants me to take her into town later.”

“I know.”

“Hey,” he finally looks down at his companion, still naked and sweat slick on the bed while he is fully dressed and making his leave. “I’ll try to come by tomorrow, maybe after breakfast if Sam will take the office, or maybe the day after.”

“Oh, well as long as it’s not an _inconvenience_ for you.” The bitterness shoots through him like quicksilver and all gentle affection of a moment before is burned out of both of them at the words.

“Jesus Cas, what do you want? I got obligations you know, I can’t just leave everything to weed just so I can fall into bed with you!”

“You’re not the only one with obligations, but I’m the only one being asked to compromise!” He’s ramrod straight sitting up in the bed, state of undress doing nothing to dampen his fury.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t like feeling as though I’m tacked onto whatever spare time you think to give me, take it or leave it! It means I would like you to treat me with a bit more respect than an unpaid whore!”

“Oh you’ve got to fucking be kidding me!” Dean’s up and digging hard fingers through his hair, grabbing his hat, jabbing it at Cas with the emphasis of his words. “You think we’re the same? We’re not the same Cas. I got bad men out there gunnin’ for me. I got a whole town that looks to me for protection. I got a family to look after, a boy to raise. I got every minute of my day took up by what someone else needs. And _you_ – this wasn’t supposed to be like that!” Dean paces as he snarls. It makes him look hard and mean, it makes him look like the man he’d tried to tell Castiel that he was and didn’t want to be. “We do this on my time because you don’t have to worry ‘bout nothing like that. What do you got? Write a little sermon once a week, visit the infirm? _Pray_?!”

“Take as much comfort as you must belittling my faith, but you have no idea what this costs me.”

“Oh, well, God forbid fucking me hurts your delicate sensibilities, _Reverend_!”

He can hear every footstep as Dean stalked out of the room, down the stairs, out the door. He can hear the cruel snap of reigns on the horse’s flank, the reedy whine of the animal, its rapid progress out to the road.

Castiel fell back on the bed, heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, unsuccessful at sealing in the hot tears. There’s a cricket in some corner of the room, chirping in the new quiet. A symbol of good luck. His breathing evens and the light gets softer, all to the maddening, unceasing trill of the insect. It’s easy to find, tucked into a bare corner. Castiel considers crushing it, looks for his boot. In the end he scoops it up and tosses it gently out the window and wonders if it survived the fall and what that might mean for his kind of luck.

*

In every conversation it’s said, this summer is unseasonably kind. Castiel gets this news most often, a surprise and a warning. Don’t get accustomed to such lush, cool days. You weren’t here for last year, the year before. Just wait till next year, just you wait.

He doesn’t mind the repetition, everything is a repetition now. Two solid months of sunrise to sunset, Sunday present to Sunday next. Anna visits him with her mother twice a week, teaches him to dance in preparation for the Founder’s Day festival in September while Jody sits on his porch sewing careful stitches into the quilt that will be put up for the raffle. He finds he enjoys her sweet company, she’s smarter than he gave her credit for on their first meeting and he apologizes to himself for being blinded to that by her pretty face and shy nature. Anna reveals herself to have a good deal of character and a wealth of conversation he’s found lacking in most of her peers. It occurs to him more than once, that if he ever were to put down roots here, start a family and become the steady, constant presence a real town preacher should be, she was as good an option as any. He visits her home some evenings for supper, others he visits with Meg and Bobby, though the old man always finds some excuse to slip out back to the safety of the barn.  Meg doesn’t ask questions, they talk of the town and nothing more, but Castiel feels that she knows somehow. Just that is a gift, just knowing he isn’t completely alone with this secret desolation. He doesn’t tell her how frequently he prays thanks for her friendship, she would just laugh.

Dean doesn’t come around anymore, doesn’t attend church, somehow finds a way to stay as far away from Castiel as he can manage. The only reason he knows Dean Winchester even exists is in the gossip of the town, which offers him nothing. The emptiness that remains bleeds the life out of him until he can’t stand it anymore. This is worse than the first time, when he found out about Lisa. He ignores the part that waits for Dean to return. Was this to be their whole existence? Crashing together then rending apart, over and over? And there were no casualties now, but what happened a year from now, three? He considered leaving, considered it long and hard. But he had been moving from place to place running from his mistakes for too long. It was time for him to stand up, stop trying to find that place he fit in and make himself fit for once, finally do right by his calling.

The Founders Day festivities begin with a few words of blessing from him over the restless crowd as they jostle together in the open street. Everyone is scrubbed and pressed, there are lanterns waiting for nightfall and a dance floor erected next to the saloon, courtesy of the Harvelles. A motley band plays fiddle and drum while partners twirl and children race between their legs. Castiel believes that by mid-day he’s danced with every lady in town. He’s passed along, and fed and regaled with stories of festivals past. And it’s not a hardship to smile for so long.

When night creeps in and the lanterns are lit, and the windows of every shop blaze yellow light into the crowded street, Castiel takes Anna by the hand and leads her to a quiet spot. She blushes just like a girl should at the question, and whispers a solemn yes and runs off to find her family.

Castiel leans against the wall of the post office, watching the bounce of her red curls in the circle of her happy family. He doesn’t see the man watching him from the upper window across the street, Castiel hadn’t even realized he’d made his declaration in view of the jailhouse. He stands there a long while, watching the happy faces around him move from shadow into light. His heart feels hollow, his fingers cold. He tells himself the numbness is just nerves, that this right here is progress and he should be content. He’s finally behaving like a proper reverend, one these good people deserve.

This was best for everyone.

Anna returns and he kisses her cheek, taking his leave with a promise to call on her in the morning. He’d walked here with company, and now walks home alone, unaware of the green eyes still watching him from a darkened window above the street.

*

“This is getting to be a real bad habit Dean.”

“That’s some mighty fine disappointment you got there, Sammy. You’re gonna make a right nice mother to that kid of yours.”

Dean lay sprawled out on the sofa of his office. It was dark with the curtains drawn and stank of booze filtered through sweat.

“So enlighten me,” choosing to ignore his brother’s jibe. He could tell from the flat hardness in the set of Dean’s glare that giving in would end in bruises and quite possibly a few broken bones. “Did you get yourself this drunk because you have to go collect the other preacher? Or is it so you don’t have to?”

“Fuck you Sammy, man’s allowed to have a little fun when he wants. World’s not gonna end if the esteemed Reverend Gilroy gets here late for the _ceremony_.”

“You got a hell of a depressing way of havin’ fun. Fine, sulk in here like a child, I’ll send Garth.”

Dean cracks an ugly smile that makes Sam think immediately of their father and sends a shiver down his spine. “Garth’s in Maple Ridge till Friday, looks like yer out of luck.”

“It _is_ Friday you jackass. He got back this morning, which you’d know if you took one step out of this room all week.” That snaps Dean out of it for a moment, but he settles back down at a thought.

“Alrighty, send Garth, seein’ as I’m not good for much at the moment. That’s a touchy bit of road there, mighty big shame if something happened.”

Sam is dumbstruck. “Are you….are you threatening to kill a preacher?!”

“Not threatenin’, just saying….or… whatever…. _fine_ _hoping_! That better Sammy? I promise not to kill Reverend Gilroy.” Rolling his eyes like Sam is the one being unreasonable. “I can hope though.”

“Jesus Dean, get yourself together! He made his choice, there’s nothing more you can do except swallow yer tonic and be a goddamn man about it!” Dean pitches forward, head in his hands, breathing so hard Sam thinks for a moment that he might be on the verge of tears and this….this scares him more than any of it. He’s never in his life see Dean cry. But the moment is gone, Dean sits up dry eyed, if a little red in the face and looks up at his brother with that steely blankness that Sam’s come to associate with Dean Winchester doing right by his family. It melts all of Sam’s aggravation. “Look Dean, I understand how hard this must be so whatever you need me-“

“Sam.” His voice gunmetal cool, the clip of it echoing _surrender or draw_. “What the fuck do you actually know, hmm? Name a single thing you’ve ever had to give up. You got to be with the woman you love, she’s gonna give you a child. You don’t have to live with the whole world thinking it’s wrong that you love her, and you damn sure don’t have to watch her marry someone else out of some fucked up sense of duty and so help me God if you say Lisa’s name I will break your fucking nose.”

The tension drags out, mostly from Sam picking over his words careful before showing them the light of day. “I’m on your side Dean. When you first told me about Cas….I don’t know, I thought maybe you had just taken a shine to someone, stars in yer eyes an’ all that. But then I saw you two together, and you were just scowling at each other like a couple of rattlers but I _got_ it. Clear as a bell. And as much as I really, really don’t want to think on it, when you two….got together….Dean I have never seen you so happy before, and I just…I didn’t care what you were getting’ up to cause I just wanted you to have something you wanted for once. But for whatever reason he’s marrying Anna and you need to find a way to live with that because I can’t see you go on like this anymore.”

“You know what I need Sam?” He sighed, “I need you gone. I’ll get back to being all the things you folks need me to be in a day or two but right now I need everyone to leave me the hell alone.”

Sam knew better than to push. He shut the door with a solid click and didn’t pause at the sound of a glass smashing against the wall.

*

They had finished with the larger preparations at his home and had moved onto the church in town so for the first time in days it was quiet. Castiel wandered about the now empty rooms, cleaned and filled with flowers, outside there were tables and chairs everywhere and a fire pit had been dug in preparation for that night’s festivities. A few remaining members of Anna’s family were out there, young girls with the task of affixing cotton bows to everything, a handful of men prepping the hog that would be turning on the spit within the hour. Castiel watched them before moving around to the front of the house. He couldn’t go inside again, it was too evident that these were the last moments this place would be solely his, by tomorrow Anna would be his wife, waking in his bed, cooking the next breakfast he would eat. Not Dean.

He was a brittle, dried husk blown about his own grounds, wandering with no direction until he looked around at the cool interior of the barn. The hush and filtered light reminded him of his sanctuary when empty, the smell of the hay and animals soothing. He stood motionless, unable to think what he should do next, unable even to pray. He was supposed to leave for the church in an hour.

Just then there was a shuffle in the dirt behind him and his horse made a startled little snort.

“Think I’m supposed to congratulate you, big day an’ all.”

Castiel turned to see Dean standing there, swaying, half empty bottle in his hand. His face was mostly covered in shadow under the brim of his hat but Castiel could still see the cold glitter of his eyes, intoxicated and angry and…..desperate.

“What do you want?”

“Well,” he staggered a few steps closer, stopped. “Should be I’d say a few words after it’s all done, raise a glass and tell all these good folks what a fine upstanding man you are, how pretty little Anna’s gonna make you so happy and may you be blessed an’ all that shit. Obligations of your _closest friend_. But seein’ as I’m headed out on a job soon, I won’t be able to do none of that.”

“You’re leaving?” Dean took another few steps closer and this time Castiel backed up. His heart was hammering in his chest.

“Yup, hate to disappoint you. I know how much you wanted me to watch you make an honest man outta yerself.” He took a long pull from the bottle then threw it to the dirt, startling the horse. They stood there, endlessly, staring at one another and waiting for one of them to shoot first. It was Dean.

Two steps and he had the preacher by the belt, hauling him against the unyielding line of his body, mouth colliding into the quivering pink lips of Castiel and _taking_. Their hands were everywhere, clawing at each other and unsatisfied until there was skin beneath them to bruise and scratch. Castiel was shaking apart, miserable and so maddeningly aroused it felt like it was killing him.

“I can’t – we can’t do this-“ Dean had Castiel’s shirt half open and bit down hard on his chest, sucking it purple then moving down to the tight little bud of his nipple.

“You’re not married yet, you’re only off limits once you got a ring, remember? You said that.” He lifted his head to glare at Castiel, pushing him backwards with force. Castiel flailed as he fell before hitting the stacked bales of hay behind him, half leaning half reclining against the straw. Dean wasted no time getting Castiel’s trousers pushed down his thighs before he was dropping to his knees, swallowing the man down like he was starving for it. Castiel shoved his hand in his mouth and bit down to keep quiet. There were still people about, Anna’s family and any one of them could come in at any moment. Dean pulled back to look Cas in the face, see the results of his work. He didn’t look away as he shoved two of his own fingers into his mouth, slicking them up.

“She gonna do this for you?” He growled as he shoved one wet finger into Castiel’s hole without any preamble. He dove back down on Cas’ cock, working him over with his mouth and finger until he was able to get another inside and Cas was a thrashing, desperate mess above him. “She gonna make you feel like this? Like I do? She gonna know how to do _this_?” He pressed his blunt fingers into Castiel’s prostate and the man gasped ragged, throwing his head back against the prickly hay. Dean continued to suck him down while thrusting his fingers roughly into that spot.

“ _No, only-_!” Castiel panted. “Only you, you’re the only one that can do this to me!” When he started to strain, so close and feeling as if he were about to split like a ripe fruit, Dean stood and spun him roughly around. He heard Dean unbuckle himself, the shush of fabric as his cock was yanked free, the rude noise of him spitting into his hand to slick himself up. And then he was pushing in, demanding and painful but _right_. And they both knew Castiel’s body hadn’t been prepared enough but something about this sad, frantic moment seemed to call for that kind of sensation.

“I want you to feel this.” Dean hissed in his ear as he began to snap his hips forward. “I wanna know that when you stand up there and take your vows in front of everyone that you _ache_ because of me.”

“ _Yes_!” Was all Castiel could manage because, _yes_ , let him have something, anything, any throbbing reminder that he had once had Dean.

“Want you to haffta have all the lights off when you go to her tonight, wanna make sure you look owned, that you look in the glass and remember you were once mine.” And as if to make his point Dean worked on sucking angry marks anywhere his mouth can reach, places Castiel could hide under his clothes but not from memory.

They strip each other raw, strangle animal noises in their throat and each silently curse their orgasm when it comes, seconds apart and each too soon. Dean doesn’t pull out, just heaves breath against Castiel’s back until he’s softened enough that he simply slips free, and Castiel can feel the spend dripping from him, running down the inside of his thigh as he turns. They redress, face to face and staring at each other. There’s no remorse from Dean or recrimination from Castiel, just hollow ache, just an understanding the end has come and they’re standing in its steel belly, expected to wander empty handed into the here on out. Castiel doesn’t know what to say.

Dean sighs, a small sound, a child’s sound and stretches out the fingers of his right hand to brush Cas’ own. And when he doesn’t pull away, Dean’s creep around to grasp the empty ring finger, rub the naked skin with a longing that breaks Castiel’s heart.

When he finally lets go, he walks out of the barn without a word. And for the first time in his life, Castiel wonders if there is a God.


	9. Chapter 9

“That smells wonderful.”

“Well thank you but hands off, you have to wait for the party.”

Anna smiles at him while still fussing about the stove, tending to several pots as they simmer away. Castiel sits at the table and waits, they have a routine now and even with the excitement of the day it won’t change. Anna brings him coffee and biscuits and slices of apple with a bit of the last summer honey.

“You’re not eating?” he asks but she doesn’t look up.

“Oh no, I’ve got to finish this then bring it over to Ma’s house, she’ll be taking everything in the wagon at once. I’ll eat something there, you know she’ll make me. And then I believe I’m heading back here with Esther and Sue after the service to change for the party. You don’t mind if my sisters stop by, do you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. I will likely just head over to Sam’s house after the service anyway, so I’ll see you there.”

He gets up to bring his dishes to the sink and is about to head upstairs to get ready when Anna suddenly stops him, her face drawn.

“I-I want to thank you, for being so understanding about last night. I know I told you I wanted to, and I do….but….”

He kisses her on the forehead and gives her a gentle smile. “It’s fine Anna, take all the time you need.”

“I just…you’ve been so patient with me. Most men wouldn’t be so patient, and I want to be a good wife, I do-“

“Anna,” he hushes her. “You are a good wife, a perfect wife. There’s no rush, when you’re ready you let me know and we can figure it out together.”

“Thank you,” she kisses his cheek, then, as if just thinking of it, kisses him quick on the lips. “I’ll see you at the church.”

It’s a full house that Sunday, standing room only and in a way it’s terribly amusing. One day Sam Winchester will tell his daughter how, on the day of her christening, a miracle occurred. Every no good card cheat and rummy and prostitute in the land found their way into that church to watch the tiny baby get baptized. And when the Reverend Novak said the final words of blessing and held the squalling infant up to the congregation, a great cheer erupted, each man trying to be louder than the last, believing that now they’d made an investment in the First National Bank of Sam Winchester’s good will, their ass in the pew a solid chit they could call in next time they found themselves in a bind.

After the service was over, everyone cleared out, and Castiel spent another hour sweeping the sanctuary and putting things away. After a time he heard boot heels headed toward his office, and the little flare of hope that welled in his heart was quicker to die out than last time. He must be making progress.

“Castiel?” The Reverend peered out the door.

“Sam? I thought you’d have left by now.”

“I’m headed over now, had to take care of a few things here first. Wanted to see if you might want to ride over with me.”

“Yes , thank you, that would be nice.”

The two men headed out, not much conversation between them. Only once had Castiel ever asked Sam when his brother might return, and the sympathetic look he’d gotten, thick as syrup, discouraged him from ever asking again.

They were just outside town when they saw the rider approaching and realized at the same time something was wrong.

“Jesus, Ben!” Sam took off, catching up to the child, who was barely old enough to be riding a pony let along a horse unaccompanied. Castiel followed, pulling up just as Sam had taken control of his nephew’s horse. The boy was crying, sobbing and dirt covered and shaking, it took a long minute to get him to settle enough to find his voice.

“He said – he said to get you an’…an’…Dean to see-“

“Ben what happened, who said?”

“The tall man, he just walked up and was talking to Aunt Jess and then she screamed and he was shooting and then the bad men were there and _they_ were shooting and I saw dead people, like Pa!” The boy collapsed again in tears and Sam looked out at the road stricken.

“Cas, I need you to get Ben here to Ellen’s, the girls will keep him safe, then tell Ash to find Dean.”

He was off tearing down the road without waiting for confirmation. Castiel pulled the child onto his saddle and tied Ben’s mount to his own, then he was off as fast as he could back to town.

With the boy in his arms, Castiel burst through the front doors of the saloon. “Where’s Ellen?” He yelled without looking. Jo came around from behind the bar.

“She’s at the party, I was just on my way, shit what’s wrong?” Castile all but tossed the child at her.

“Something’s going down, I think they’re shooting at each other out there! I need you to keep Ben safe, stay here.”

“Yeah, yeah no problem.” Then looking him over, “You got a gun preacher?”

Shit he hadn’t even thought of that, but Jo was already pulling two large pistols from somewhere beneath her skirt.

“Take ‘em, got more upstairs. Come on Ben, you know how to play poker?”

He all but fell into the telegraph station, and he would have to hope that the slow nod Ash gave him meant he understood from the torrent of words and waving hands that he needed to use that magic network of his to find Dean and see him returned quick. Castiel ran back out, guns heavy and awkward in his belt as he didn’t wear a proper holster. He mounted up and tore off down the road, heart in his throat.

When he was finally a half mile out he heard it, gunshots and a hell of a lot of ‘em. He didn’t think the sound of a horse approaching would put anyone off with such a commotion, but he slowed as much as he dared all the same. There was a small slope to the west of the property, and it was here that Castiel tied off his horse, just out of sight of the house. He crept through the sparse treeline till he could get a proper look.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Everyone in town that had been friends with Sam or Jessica had come to celebrate the baby’s christening, which meant nearly everyone in town. And now, God, how many of those people were laid out bleeding in the grass? There were dust black men tearing ass around the place, or ducking for cover. Off to the left was the stable, where Cas could see people pinned down and shooting out at the intruders from the knotholes. Rufus and a few others were straight ahead of him, farther back, behind the house where a branch of the river flowed past the homestead. They were ducked down behind some low rocks at the bank, he couldn’t tell how many but could see a few bright snatches of women’s clothes as a someone handed Rufus off reloads. One or two of the outlaws were trading off firing at these folks, while the bulk of the gang concentrated on the house. Castiel watched in horror as round after round was fired into the home and it was such a terrible sight it took him a while to really see what he was seeing.

Sam must have fought his way in there, because he was in the upper window now, peeking out when clear and taking out the men below one at a time. In the other window he could see Jess, doing the same with a shotgun and if he listened careful…praise the Lord in Heaven, the wailing of the baby. There were other people up there, crying or shooting out the other windows, he couldn’t tell how many.

The stable was closest, and Castiel found a sturdy tree wide enough to provide cover before pulling out the guns and making his presence known. His aim wasn’t nearly as good as the Winchesters, but he had the element of surprise, was able to take down two before they realized he was there. There was a shout, and another one was headed from the far side of the property, making to flank him to the right.

“Castiel!” He looked around and saw Meg peek out from the stable and wave him over franticly. It was his only chance. Three more blind shots at the outlaw coming at him slowed the man enough that Castiel could make a run for it, propelling himself so fast towards the open frame of the stable door he didn’t see what it was he tripped on until it was underneath him.

His insides constricted to the size of a pin and he couldn’t breathe.

Anna, in the blue taffeta dress with the pink roses she had worn on the day he had proposed, copper hair fanned out like the wing of a bird from her head, beautiful exotic color mocking the ruin of her face. Or what had been her face before someone had shot it to pieces. Castiel cried out, grabbed her shoulders and shook. Meg was screaming at him to move but he didn’t think he could. When the hot arrow of a bullet singed past his ear, barely missing his head, he came to, tried to collect his wife’s tiny body and drag her to the stable.

“You can’t help her Cas, you gotta run!” It was Bobby yelling at him. He didn’t know how to make his body do anything but listen. Inside he ran straight into Meg and vomited into the hay while she gripped his shoulders.

“Grieve when yer safe, now’s the time for usin’ this.” Bobby handed him a gun. Castiel pulled up and nodded, he was right.

They kept the men that advanced back, took a few down, but their angle meant they didn’t have a clear view of the house, couldn’t see much. It felt like they would spend eternity like this and Castiel wondered at one point if he had died and this was actually Hell.

There was a clawing sound at the back of the stable, then a pounding and a voice.

“Let me in! Please somebody help me!” Bobby and Meg looked at the back then each other, Castiel didn’t wait for them, crouched along the wall until he was there.

“Ma’am?”

“Oh preacher, it’s Ruby! You gotta let me in, they tried to get me but I ran! Oh god they’re comin’ preacher _please_!”

Castiel unbolted the rear door and opened it just enough.

“Thank you, preacher!”

And Castiel only got a second to take in the strange smile on Ruby’s face before she was bringing her arm down fast and the world went black.

*

“I’m tellin’ you this is almost as good. You go after the brother now you’ll only end up getting’ shit out the other end of a coyote after he pumps you full o’ lead.”

Castiel’s head felt like it was being crushed. He tried to open his eyes but it was only black. It was hard to breathe, they’d tied a sack around his head, his arms bound behind his back, his belly pressed cruelly between the saddle horn and a pair of hard thighs. He did his best to remain still, keep them from realizing he was awake.

“But Al said -“ He didn’t recognize the man’s voice but he certainly knew Ruby’s.

“Don’t you worry about Al, I’ll take care of him. I’m more pissed you couldn’t get that bitch Ellen. Al was going to let me have her and I had _plans_.”

“You want her you go after her yourself, crazy bitch took out Mitch _and_ Sven before we even knew she was packin’!”

The motion of the horses pitched forward as they moved down a hill.  Or no…an embankment, they were splashing through water now. Castiel thanked God and prayed they stayed near the river.

“I _told_ you to watch out for her, I told you. She’s a fighter and your stupid ass is lucky she only got two.”

“Well hell, we thought you meant like a _woman_ , you know…” Castiel can feel him making some sort of hand gesture. Then there is a solid crack.

“Like that you mean? Jesus fuck, they should have slapped your Ma into Tuesday for raisin’ you so simple.”

The man’s voice comes through sulky and muffled by his hand pressed to his jaw. “You don’t have to go talkin’ ‘bout my Mama.”

They continue on in silence for a while, and Castiel realizes with a sinking heart that they’ve moved past the river and he has no idea where they are. After what feels like hours but is likely closer to twenty or thirty minutes, he can hear the sound of other men and other horses and they finally come to a stop.

“Ruby my dear.” The voice that materializes next to Cas’ head is smooth and refined and came without the warning of footsteps. Something about it sent a shiver of cold dread through Castiel’s bones. “Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

Without warning Castiel is hauled off the horse and dropped into the dirt, the cloth yanked from his head. The sun blinds him for a moment but he gets the impression of the man standing over him and he thinks back immediately to what Ben had said. _The tall man_. This man is tall, and strangely prim when compared to the ragged, frankly terrifying men that surround him. Men brown with filth, armed head to toe, sneering ugly rotted smiles at him and he knows each and every man here has likely committed the most vile acts a person could think of, but none of them scare him more than the man in front of him. The way he inspects Castiel like a butcher pleased with the new animal he’ll be breaking down, considering where to start. He kisses Ruby’s hand graciously and she beams at him and blushes like a virgin.

“Now I know you wanted the brother, but I told you he’d be no easy catch. But this here’s the esteemed Reverend Novak and if the sheriff ever had a friend in his life it’s this man. I’m tellin’ you, man’s as ornery as they come and I ain’t never seen him with nobody but whores an’ family, but ever since the preacher here got to town they’ve been attached at the hip.”

“Is that so?” And Alistair, for this could be no one else, looks him over again with a raised eyebrow and a different kind of interest.

“Yup. What we got, it’s gonna _kill_ that bastard when he finds out! Fuck Al, I almost wish you’d let me go back so’s I could watch!” He strokes her hair, smiling down like a doting father.

“And what of your pet, hmmm? Did you catch her?”

“No.” Ruby pouts and Castiel praises God for small miracles.

“Now, now, this pretty face shouldn’t frown. Maybe when the Winchesters are dead we can come back for your plaything.”

“Really, you mean it?!” And she squeals and kisses his cheek.

“Children.” He smiles down at Castiel with a look of ‘what can you do?’ before squeezing her tit and Castiel feels sick. “Get our Reverend Novak here in with the others and let the men know we leave immediately.”

With a nod from Ruby, Casitel is hauled up by one of the men and propelled forward. Ahead he sees a rickety looking carriage, which upon inspection reveals its small, iron barred windows, metal siding and countless bullet holes. This must have been a payroll coach, the kind they used out on the railroads. The door is yanked open by another man who points a gun inside and holds it there while Castiel is shoved in. The door is closed and locked behind him and a pair of hands immediately starts to unbind his wrists.

It’s Lisa. And on the other bench sits Bobby, grimacing while Meg puts pressure on his leg where Castiel can see he must have bled quite a bit before they’d got it tied off in a tourniquet.

“I’m gonna kill that whore first chance I get.” Meg spits.

“Reverend, do you have any news of my boy?” Lisa’s eyes are red rimmed and frantic.

“He’s fine, Sam and I found him on the road to town, took him myself and put him in Jo’s arms. He’s safe.”

“Oh thank God!” She sighs and sinks back into the seat.

“I spoke to Ash as well, he’s trying to contact Dean as we speak. Don’t worry, we’ll get out of this.”

“No we won’t.” Lisa gives him a small smile, almost content. They didn’t get her child, that was all that mattered.

The carriage jerked forward and Bobby groaned. For the rest of the day they jostled about and did what they could to make Bobby comfortable and whisper about escape. It would be no use, they knew, not with Bobby injured, but none of them was willing to say it. Lisa told Castiel her story first.

The party had just started, and there were a few strange men milling about the fringes, but Lisa had just figured, what with the odd turnout at the church, it was more of the same looking for a free lunch. Then she heard Jessica scream, just as a man came out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind. She’d only just managed to yell for Ben to run when another man punched her in the gut and they’d set about tying her up, slinging her over the saddle of a horse much the same as they’d done to Castiel. She’d gotten to camp first and had spent the time locked in the carriage, wondering what had happened to Ben and why men such as these hadn’t tried to rape her.

Bobby and Meg said much the same. They’d arrived only minutes before the shooting started, it had all happened so fast. Bobby had seen clear as day Jessica running to the house with a man after her and he hadn’t gotten much time to think before he’d shot the man down. In those few seconds the world ignited, people falling, splashed crimson with their own blood. What men were quick enough fought back, trying to get as many folks as they could to cover. Meg and Bobby had made it to the stable, they could hear the unholy fury of Sam when he barreled through the fray towards the house, but they couldn’t see him. They were relieved to know he’d made it to his family.

After Ruby had hoodwinked Castiel, she’d barged in with three other men, one of which shot Bobby in the leg when he tried to shove Meg into a stall while aiming at them. They were disarmed, tied and brought here, though they couldn’t see what had happened to Castiel.

“Why are they doing this, does he mean to ransom us?” And Castiel tried very hard not to think of the word _mutilated_ that Bobby had used so long ago.

“Not bloody likely.” The old man spit. “Dean killed that man’s boy, and your God will be a merciful one if Alistair shoots us in the head.”

“Dean’s coming.” Lisa said with quiet determination and pale lips.

“Well yeah he’s comin’, question is can he find us?”

*

The world was the taste of ash in the air. The world was the lifeless mineral of blood in turned earth. The world was snowfall silence but for a ringing, singing pitch that wouldn’t leave Dean’s ears.

They’d had to restrain him, like he was a convulsive, rag in the mouth and four stout men. Pin him to the table and send Ben from the room so he wouldn’t see. Wouldn’t remember Dean like this, snarling at everything, mad with bloodlust. An animal with guns and a terrifying will.

Sam finally got through. It took hours.

The survivors had seen, people had been taken. And with the bodies all counted they had the names of the missing four by the time Dean crashed into town with brimstone in his lungs.

But they didn’t know where to start. There was no call for ransom, no gloating, evil trinket that might give them some clue, taunt Dean to follow into a trap. Dean knew what this was, this was Alistair being far too clever for all that. Why kill Dean when he could flay him from the inside out? Take what he loved and steal away with it in the dark, into an unknown void too unkind to offer him the charity of death.

Nightfall and they still didn’t have any leads, only the hollow comfort of barking out orders to the able bodied men, dividing up watches and making sure every home had a gun to guard it. Dean stopped his furious pacing when Ben returned from upstairs, cowering behind Jo’s skirts.

“He’s staying with Jessica at your place.” Jo squeezed the child’s shoulder, “Ma an’ me are gonna take him over there now.”

Dean knelt down, forcing his features to calm and extended a hand to the child. Ben looked at him warily before running into his arms. He didn’t cry, didn’t shiver, just held on then pushed back to look up into Dean’s eyes. It was one more slice to his bloodied soul, those soft brown eyes just like his mother’s, flat and drained of life, Adam’s mouth pulling tight across his ruddy face.

“You can get her back, right?”

And Dean could handle tears, he could handle snuffling, sobbing children, but he couldn’t handle the angry resignation Ben shot at him for being too small and too young to strap on a gun and come along on the hunt. Dean was sure he’d looked that way at his age, and it was one more disaster he had to prevent.

“I surely will, ain’t nothin’ they got in Heaven or Hell’s gonna stop me from getting’ yer Ma back. The others, too.” He took off his badge and pressed it into Ben’s hand. “Not even the law. Now you hold onto that for me, ya hear?” And the boy nodded solemn.

Ellen came in then, pulling on her shawl. “Where the hell is Ruby? I told those girls they had to be indoors by now but that little tart’s never listened to a word I say.”

“Maybe she’s dead, too.” Ben shouldn’t be able to say that without a tremble in his voice, but he does.

“Oh, no sweetie,” Ellen corrects the part in his hair. “My girls didn’t go to the party, she’s fine, just-“

“Yes she did.” And they all look at him with equal confusion. “Ruby was at the party, I seen her. She even…she had a gun like you Ma’am and was shooting....”

Jo and Ellen exchanged looks.

“What the hell was Ruby doing there?” Dean demanded, for there was far more bad blood between Jess and Ruby over Sam than just the impropriety of whores at a christening.

“Ben, sugar,” Ellen knelt down. “I want you to remember everything you can about Ruby, can you do that? Did she talk to you?”

“No, I just ‘member I seen her out in the trees and I thought she was just shy cause she didn’t have no dress like the other girls.”

“She wasn’t wearing clothes?” Jo asked.

“No silly!” Ben gave her a look that was far too adult. “She was in boy clothes, _pants._ I remembered her cause I’ve never seen a girl in no pants before. That’s why I thought she was hiding. But then those men came and the….before the tall man got me I seen her shootin’ at stuff.”

Dean felt his anger boil beneath his skin. Thank God Ellen picked up on it or he would have been shouting at the boy, though it wasn’t his fault.

“You remember anything else?”

Ben thought hard, furrowing his little brow, “I think I ‘member her not being so good with her gun like you Ma’am, cause I think she got Jimmy from the hardware store by accident.”

“Ben,” Dean grabbed at him roughly, and the boy flinched, but Dean kissed him hard on the cheek and gave him a good shake. “You just helped me more’n any of these sorry ass men standin’ about.”

“You got an idea?” Ellen gave him her stone cold business look.

“You’re fucking right I do. Jesus this makes some awful sense. They got four they ain’t plannin’ on killin’, otherwise why not do it already like they done everyone else? They got to either lay low or haul ass, and they can’t do that proper with what they’re carrying. We looked everywhere Ellen, _everywhere_ , except the one place nobody’d think to look cause nobody thought he was that stupid. But Alistair’s not stupid, he’s fucking smarter’n any of us, smart enough to take what’s left of his gang to Ruby’s people.”

“But Ruby don’t got no people.” Jo piped in, but Ellen’s face went dark.

“Yeah she do, she’s a half-breed.”


	10. Chapter 10

It was as if Alistair had taken them, not just from their home, but from the very world they understood. That night the air had dropped to freezing when they’d camped, surrounded by laughing outlaws, but Castiel noticed none of them drank, which was odd on its own, but odder still was the fact that not one of them would even look at their prisoners. Two lovely, captured ladies, and not a single leering note of lust had been thrown their way. Castiel was certainly thankful they hadn’t been defiled, but it all gave him the uneasy sense that they were being _saved_ for something. Especially in the way Alisatair would smile and wave at them over the fire.

Bobby’s leg was a concern, but when they got a proper look at it, Castiel was relieved to see the bullet had gone straight through the meat of his thigh, to the side of the bone. The bleeding had mostly stopped but it would likely start up again with hard travel. After pleading his case, the men had given him a few rudimentary supplies, enough that Castiel was able to use a small bit of iron in the fire to cauterize the wound and get it wrapped tight. Bobby had done his best to take it quiet, but he couldn’t help the strangled cry when the white hot iron seared the ragged flesh. Lisa ran for the safety of the carriage but Meg, God bless her, didn’t look away, just held her husband tight where he was propped up against her and handed Castiel the bandages.

When he looked up, Alistair was standing close by, watching with an interested little smile. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, as if indulging in a bouquet of flowers, and it was then that Castiel registered the porcine smell of burning flesh. Alistair’s smile deepened and Castiel thought he might wretch.

That night they huddled together, shivering in the carriage, and the next morning the world that had once been warm and gentle was covered in frost. They weren’t being starved, for what little comfort that brought, but so too were no other extra considerations given to the women or the injured. They were so far beyond anything that might be considered well-traveled land that Bobby had become eerily silent, working the landscape over and over in his brain, trying to discover their destination.

It was Meg that figured it out.

“Well shit.” And they all craned their necks to peer out the bars, but all he could see was the plain grass spreading out in front of them to where it stopped at a row of overlapping hills. It was only when Ruby let out a loud whoop, and it echoed back in another voice that Castiel realized the even little mounds in the distance weren’t part of the hill scape, but huts. A village.

Castiel could see riders now, their tiny pinpoint figures getting larger on the horizon, coming right at them. The tightly concealed panic was evident on everyone’s face, there were stories about what happened to white prisoners out here, some worse than others but just enough of them frightening in a way that Castiel suddenly wondered if Alistair might not be a better option.

Their caravan had stopped, waiting, and when the riders finally arrived, five of them, Alistair shocked them all by greeting them in their native tongue and clasping hands with one of them. They couldn’t understand any of it, but it was clear these Indians knew this man and that made Castiel’s blood freeze over.

“Iroquois.” Bobby hissed.

“You know them?” Meg asked, the hope in her voice tragic.

“No, but I seen their like. This must be the lot that we heard about. Army sent word they’d been having a scuffle with a tribe o’ Iroquois ‘round these parts. They make the soldiers skittish cause they don’t give a fuck about the white man and his guns. This’s a big tribe, I mean bigger’n most towns, and they been suckin’ up the smaller tribes in the area too, Osage, Mohawk, Arapaho, consolidating their forces or what have you.”

“But the envoy from the army said we needn’t have fear of them, they were harmless.” Lisa argued.

“Harmless long as we stayed the hell away, they didn’t mention the part where they come to realize they can’t handle a tribe this large, not without a full on war and nobody wants that right now with all the new development. There’s a big ol’ invisible ‘Keep Out’ sign posted for miles around this territory, and anyone fool enough to ignore it can’t expect the law to save them.”

“Alright, so head down, mouth shut and nobody do anything stupid.” Meg gritted as she squeezed Bobby’s hand.

By the time they made it to the village, every man, woman and child was there to see. Words were exchanged and suddenly the carriage door was opened, each of them dragged out and shoved roughly in front of a line of men. There was a young man, solid muscle and a flat, inspecting gaze that looked them over coldly, but Castiel knew that the real man in charge was the elder next to him. He had that look, the look of a man who was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed in an instant.

Ruby stepped forward and spoke in the syncopated, nasal language of the tribe with such ease it dawned on all of them in that moment that this, not English, was her first language. The young man listened then spoke his turn, it went back and forth like this, dealings, negotiations, Ruby arguing as sweetly as she could and the young man shaking his head. Finally the elder, the chief, spoke a few words and Castiel watched as Alistair strangled back his anger.

“You are slaves?” The young man was addressing _Bobby_ , and Ruby barked out something they couldn’t understand.

“We’re prisoners.” Bobby kept his tone even.

“Little Knife say you are payment for life taken, gift for tribe.” And it was suddenly plain that this was a _diplomatic_ exchange between two parties that held each other in mutual suspicion.

“A precious gift, the satisfaction of their death should be _mine_ , but I offer them to you as thanks for your continued generosity.” Alistair bowed with considerable gentility but the men before him only looked at him stoically. The chief stared down the outlaws, then the ragged group of prisoners. He uttered two clipped sentences and the crowd exploded.

“Unacceptable!” Alistair screamed. “Vince, put them back in the carriage.”

The Iroquois men before them went from calm to armed in the space of a breath.

“You have put them in the chief’s hand, they are no longer yours to take.” The young man was deadly serious and the tension strung out while the crowd still screamed.

“Fine!” Alistair growled, crossing his arms while Ruby looked back and forth between them in a panic.

“Our _generosity_ has been paid. You will leave now. This is finished.” And the message was clear. Leave and never return. Alistair went pale with fury, shaking with it but even with every one of his guns drawn and men let loose, they hadn’t a chance in hell against this mob. He shot the prisoners one last look, hellfire strong as if he could drag the will to kill them with a thought from his very bones. Then he turned and mounted up, his men following suit.

“Ruby!” He barked to the woman where she stood, still caught in some sort of dilemma, but the decision was made for her, the young man shaking his head. She mounted up beside Alistair, dead fear in her eyes and Castiel got the distinct impression this would be the last he ever saw of her.

The whole village began to churn, getting things, preparing for something, moving out as one into an open space. They were escorted along to the sound of singing, dark eyes everywhere shining with cruel smirks, taunts, laughing. Lisa was shaking beside him and Castiel put his arm around her.

As they came into the field, the people moved about, forming two loose parallel lines, jostling each other for space while the children crouched in the dirt making little piles of stones. A pallet of sorts was brought out for the chief and placed at the far end of the line while the prisoners were held back. Bobby looked grim and clutched at Meg.

Just then Castiel felt a tug at his sleeve, turning to see a young girl with strangely familiar features.

“They make you run.”

She had grown since he’d last seen her, still skinny, but taller and undeniably more like a young woman than the tomboy he’d slipped candy to all those months ago. The relief at this familiar face was nearly painful.

“What do you mean?”

“The Walking Snake want us to kill or make you _yetse na_. Seven Rivers knows men, he see in the-“ and she poked him in the chest for the word she didn’t have. “If more white men come, they come for Seven Rivers. Not refuse gift, not bring white guns here if kill you, so you run. You live, you free. You die, it is will of Spirits for Walking Snake son.”

The chief began speaking and the crowd roared in excitement, and they could all see now the cudgels, the sticks and leather lashes and heavy rocks that every single one of those people were brandishing in the air.

“Christ it’s a gauntlet.” Bobby growled.

The Indian man who had facilitated their exchange was suddenly by their side. The crowd had settled only a little, waiting for the action to start. He was speaking to them now, and it was a damn good thing the young girl had already explained most of it, for in his terror Castiel had missed most of what he’d said.

“You place this in hand of Seven Rivers, it is done.” He held up a large, glossy black crow feather. “Only ends with this.”

Lisa elbowed her way out of Castiel’s arms and stepped right up to the man.

“Let me get this straight, I run through that, put that feather in the chief’s hand and I’m free? I can walk out of here back to my son?”

The man nodded, “You will be as us, free.”

Not a single person there was prepared for the swiftness with which Lisa snatched the feather from his hand and ran with skirts raised like the devil was after her. The crowd had been waiting for a signal, a word to begin, but by the time they realized what was happening Lisa was already halfway through. The rocks flew harmlessly behind her, the sticks just missing her legs. A few of the people crowded at the end managed to land a few blows but they must not have been too direct as it didn’t slow her once. The crowd was already screaming in anger by the time she made it to the chief and handed him the feather.

It was a tense moment as they watched the chief study Lisa, then the crowd. It didn’t take a translator to understand many of them were calling for her to run again. But he held up a hand and everyone fell silent. He nodded at Lisa and spoke a word.

“He accepts.” The Indian said, and all three of them breathed a heavy sigh of relief. It was short lived. The feather was returned, and Castiel knew that this time the crowd would be ready, and furious. With a shaking hand he took the feather.

“I’ll go.”

Meg and Bobby watched with chests tight as Castiel made his way to the start. He stood, letting the crowd scream and curse him while he sent a prayer to the Heavens.  A slim hand covered his own and he looked down at it, then up at the face of the young girl.

“Run fast.”

So he did. They were on him immediately, rocks flying from every direction, lashes raining down on is back while the women tried to trip him up, shoving their long branches between his legs. He could feel the damage but he was too flooded with fear to register the pain. A young child of no more than ten threw a perfectly aimed rock at his head, felling him in a flash. The blows landed faster, harder, the screams for blood ringing in his ears. Somehow he pushed up, stumbled, then threw himself forward and let the momentum take him the last few feet.

Good God he’d made it. It was almost hard to believe, but there was the chief and Castiel watched himself place the feather in his hands. The old man nodded and spoke that same word, it was done.

But it wasn’t, not when Castiel made his way back to his friends and realized suddenly what the others had already figured out. There was no way Bobby could make it, not with his leg. Castiel limped up to the group just as the Indian was handing over the feather. Meg was screaming at him, then at her husband, pleading that it wasn’t fair, he would die. They didn’t care. Bobby spoke softly to his wife, trying to calm her, to sell her the lie that it would all be ok.

“Wait.” Castiel croaked. “I- I’ll go for him, will you accept that?” His friends looked at him in equal horror, he wasn’t in much better shape than Bobby at this point, but his mind was made up. His legs were bruised, cut, but they could still carry him with some measure of speed. The Indian looked him over, then nodded, and Castiel found himself once more standing at the head of the line.

If it was possible to compare, and he wasn’t sure it was, they were even more brutal now. With his slowed pace, the blows had a chance to be more precise, land with extra force over his already battered body. There was blood in his eyes, in his nose, throat, choking him as it fought the air he desperately pulled into burning lungs. He fell more than once and every time they were on him, the children giggling as they pelted him with rocks and tangled his feet, slowing him even further for the onslaught all around him. At one point he realized he had no strength left to stand, so he crawled, the knuckles of his fist that clenched the sticky feather scraped raw and bleeding out patterns in the dirt.

He didn’t think he would make it, he was sure he was going to die, but he had to, _he had to_ , or they would make Bobby run. This thought was just enough, just the last little push to see him drag himself past the finish, one eye swollen shut the other clouded in red so that it took more than one try for him to find the exact location of Seven River’s hand.

There was screaming, or no…it almost sounded like cheering. But he was in too much pain to give it much notice. Arms were lifting him, carrying him back to his friends and a low masculine voice spoke clipped words he didn’t understand in his ear.

He was lowered to the dirt, Lisa cradled his head in her lap and Bobby called him an ‘idjit’. The Indian was turning to Meg, and Castiel tried to push himself up.

“I don’t think so preacher, you ain’t gonna survive round three. I got this.” Meg started unbuttoning her dress, pulling off the generous fabric without a hint of modesty. Bobby looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle her or hug her one last time. “I _made_ this dress, mister, you know how long that took me? I’ll be damned if some heathen assholes tear it to pieces.” She plucked the blood matted feather from the Indian’s hands and jammed it down the front of her girdle, and with her head raised high, took her place at the start.

“Fuck every one of you straight to hell!” And she was off.

Meg Singer, in underclothes and high laced boots, with undone hair streaming behind her, charged into the gauntlet with a different set of priorities than those of her companions. If they were going to try to beat her down, than she was just going to give it right back. Barely a few feet in, a few blows landed and Meg spun fast to backhand the face of the woman that had just lashed her in the arm with a switch. There were a few gasps, but this only gave her time to run a little farther, duck under the arch of a cudgel then grab at a stick that was thrust at her chest. She heaved backwards, yanking hard until the man holding it fell forward into her path where she kicked him once in the ribs before leaping over him to attack the people at her right as they tried to help their comrade.

Some were screaming in anger, others were laughing, and it was one of these that jumped from his place to rush across the path and grab a handful of her ass. His smug whooping cheer was cut short with Meg’s elbow to his face and a sudden gush of hot blood from his nose. Now everyone was enraged, the rocks and sticks came hard and fast. Meg ran, ducking when she could, then spun, hauled a child from the ground where he’d been chucking stones and threw him bodily into the crowd, toppling several in their attempts to catch him and causing more than a few to drop their weapons.

Meg ran again, this time with a heavy cudgel in her hands, and just as she was halfway through something snapped and the finish was no longer her goal. Careening sideways she swung her blunt weapon wildly, landing solidly on the wall of flesh and sending the children scattering to safety. The other side of the line looked like they would rush her, but in the next moment she was whirling after them too, and now it was chaos as men and women either fled or ran at her and it looked like she was done for before a shout stopped the crowd in its tracks. The chief was standing on his pallet, an unreadable look on his face. The crowd parted, waiting. No one moved, the prisoners watching didn’t breathe.

Meg looked around, panting, bleeding, then stalked the last few feet to the end, chucked the cudgel into the dirt at the chief’s feet and plucked the feather from her girdle, handing it to him with a scowl. He stepped down before her to take it, then lifted her hand to place it in the crook of his arm and confound the lot of them as he walked her back to her group the very image of a proper gentleman.

The chief spoke a few words then handed Meg over to Bobby.

“Seven Rivers asks if you would consider a trade for this woman.” The young Indian translated. “He likes her fire.”

Castiel heard Bobby’s near hysterical bark of laughter. He heard something like words in a careful, apologetic tone and the percussive alto of Meg cursing. But it was all too slippery for his mind to grasp, a dark, constricting tunnel dissolving both his vision and reason. Lisa’s hand stroked his hair, and it was a single point of pleasantness that he could focus on before he understood they were safe and let unconsciousness overtake him.

*

This land was so beautiful, open and unknown, this was what his dreams looked like when they were good. Golden grass shimmering in the low afternoon sun, the smell of it sweet and dry. Everything vast and still sovereign from the iron and rough lumber brand of men. White men. Dean knew very little about the natives that slipped like phantoms through the edges of his world, only that they were better than his own kind at making land like this a home.

But he had lived a sizable portion of his life in the saddle, out here in untouched land like this, so he liked to consider that his own senses were acclimatized enough to rival that of any native. What he hadn’t counted on through the haze of his panic, though in hindsight he most certainly should have, was that other men might be just as well suited to the task. Most outlaws suffered the wilderness out of necessity, but were much more accustomed to beds and walls and hot meals. The Winchesters knew how to use that against them. Alistair, however, was not such a man.

Dean scented the horror before he saw it, saw the flat crimson patch of grass that went on forever. His horse shied back, the blood and bile and excrement sparking the instinct to flee in the poor beast. Dean forced him still, then dismounted in silence, creeping over in the high grass to where a lone horse stood calm as anything, unbothered or more likely accustomed to the gore. The bones of Dean’s body threatened to crack under the strain of his muscles, mind screaming, begging, bargaining with a God he never really believed in to not let this butchery be his family. _Please you son of a bitch_. Or he would just eat a bullet right here because the man that retuned to Lawrence, if that was so, was no longer a man capable of being a father, a brother, a human being.

A gun cocked to his right.

“Come to admire my work, sheriff? As you can see I have a bit of difficulty tolerating failure.” Alistair materialized beside him, gun trained, cocked smile, and Dean clamped down tight on his desire to scream fury and let the bullets fly.

But he was a lawman first and a damn good one, so he turned slowly, hands raised, and faced the outlaw that had got the drop on him with calm, giving his brain time to catch up, organize and hand over what he’d seen.

Those bodies in the grass, those weren’t his people.

“Oh, Dean,” The man sighed with gentle exasperation, with a fondness that made Dean’s skin crawl. “I’ve kept tabs on you for a long time now. You have such purity in your wrath, it is really quite exquisite. I would have loved to make you into one of my own. You would have blossomed. But this business has become rather unfortunate. I feel the need to start fresh, yes? You understand that, I’m sure.”

“Where are they?” He spit out, trying not to look at the massacre, trying not to waste his mental resources piecing together what had happened.

“Well, if you’ve found me here then you must know. And if you hurry, there might even be something left to bury. They’ll likely kill you on the spot, mind you. You _could_ scurry on home and live out your days with what I’ve left of your family. Or you can try your luck storming the village, _guns a’ blazin’_ as they say. We both know how that will end, but you do love to be the hero, so there’s that. Either way I win.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“I certainly hope you’ll try, but not today. Now if you don’t mind, your guns please.”

Dean bared his teeth in an ugly snarl as he lowered his guns to the dirt with steady fingertips, then stepped back a few paces as Alistair indicated. The man mounted his horse, barrel still trained.  “Now then, you’ll find the village dead west of here, can’t miss it. You will notice that I am headed east. I look forward to meeting you again someday Winchester, you do make things more interesting.”

He was gone. Leaving the sheriff in the cottony silence among the dead.

Every single member of Alistair’s gang and the horses, too. Dean allowed himself one frozen moment to look, to see what Alistair’s punishment was for failure, to unhinge the cellar door to the deepest part of his soul that marveled at the slick, juddering entrails where they glistened in the dying sunlight. The eyes that lay open to nothing, those that still had eyes. So very much red it was almost inspiring. If he could have gotten to them first, this was the picture he would have painted with his own two hands, and he shuddered at the whisper of such a violence that Alistair had sensed.

Dean followed the setting sun, letting its brilliance burn the tears from his eyes as he raced across the plains. Chanting a prayer of the only holiness he had ever known.

_Castiel_... _Castiel...Castiel.._.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Yetse na- Slave
> 
> I've done my best to find accurate translations, but if I'm off in any way I apologize. Also, I didn't get too deep in my research, but there were some tribal customs of a grief ritual captured slaves had to endure before they could be integrated into the tribe. Most did not treat slavery as a trade the way European settlers did, nor did they consider them racially inferior in the same way. The Iroquois did use the gauntlet on prisoners but this is my own creative interpretation and should be considered with a grain of fic writing salt.


	11. Chapter 11

__

A soft, insistent rattling sound woke Castiel, who opened his eyes, turning his head to see a shining black pair that stared at him from not a foot away. Round silken cheeks plumped around the makings of a smile as the baby shook its toy of leather and deer teeth, drooling and cooing its happiness at Castiel’s attention. It was warm here, soft on a bed of furs in the dim light and for a moment Castiel didn’t try to figure out where he was. The baby sucked on its toy, then shot an uncoordinated arm out to bat the damp thing against Castiel’s lips as if he might enjoy a turn.

A woman’s voice lowed from somewhere beside him, and in the next moment the baby was lifted into a pair of tan arms. He was blinded briefly when the door flap was lifted as the woman called to someone outside. Another woman was beside him now, hand roughly turning his head by the jaw to get a better look at him. His young friend.

“You live.” She seemed pleased.

The mother crouched beside him, the same woman he’d helped with her labor all those months ago. She was glowing, strong, and her baby was a fine, fat thing at her hip and Castiel couldn’t help but smile that they had made it here in safety. He’d often wondered.

The mother spoke to the young girl, gesturing around then handing off the child who was very intent on getting his hands in Castiel’s hair.

“You stay here, with you woman. Others in _aksotha_ place. Stay till you walk, then we help you go.”

“My woman?” None of this seemed real.

“Little brown fox,” the girl laughed. “Fast, sneaky. I like you woman.” Lisa, he realized. She was talking about Lisa. They must think she was his wife. Well better to let them think that if it gave her any protection.

“So we’re really free then?” The girl shrugged and it struck him as an oddly French gesture, he began to wonder where she’d learned English.

“We keep you, not good for us. Walking Snake bad, but he has blood here, so he is paid blood and now you free.”

Castiel stared up at the domed roof, watching the fire smoke curl up, seeking out the little hole at the apex. The baby had discovered how nice it was to flail both arms and smack them down on Castiel’s tender side, causing him to groan, confirming one bruised rib if not more. The girl moved the child away.

“What’s your name?”

She gave it some thought, “Waneek. I don’t have the words…”

“I’m Castiel.”

In all this time the sounds of the village filtered through the walls, a different set of harmonies than the ones he was used to in Lawrence, but still so soothingly familiar it began to set his mind adrift. The horror of what had happened to them sat in the corner of his thoughts, spines sharp and dripping poison, waiting for him to finally give in and face it. But he wouldn’t have to just yet, for a new sound filtered in, the sound of rising excitement, the sound of many people moving in one direction. For a brief flash he felt panic, something had gone wrong, Alistair was back, his friends were in trouble. Waneek’s face gave him no comfort, she too heard the building commotion and listened with a frown, pulling the baby to her.

“What is it?”

She tried to listen but shook her head, didn’t know. She pulled back the furs covering Castiel’s body, then tucked the cooing child into his arms.

“Stay.”

She darted out the door. He wasn’t sure which one of them she’d been speaking to, and his body was far too battered to do much more than shift a bit where he lay. So he held onto the small child, straining to hear while the baby curled against him, content to jam its chubby fingers in his mouth.

*

What had he expected? Some show of force, perhaps, an arrow to the side, some bound wrists and head blows before he was thrown at the mercy of their savage king. They were on him quick enough, that was sure, and he’d reigned in, hands in the air, but shit, the bastards didn’t even take his guns. That was confusing.

The big one in charge had looked him up and down then nodded his head in the direction of the village indicating he should follow. Had they been expecting him? Shit was there some way Alistair had doubled back and this was some sort of trap? He was going over and over every possible way he could hold them off from killing him just long enough to find out about his people, that he almost missed the sound of his name being called over the sound of the gathering crowd.

“Dean! _Dean_!” Lisa ran to him, the crowd parting to let her through.  A light snow had begun to fall and it dusted her hair and shoulders in a delicate web.

Dean jumped from his horse to gather her in his arms, holding her tight as she shook and cried. Apart from the smudge of a bruise to her temple and a thin scratch to her neck, she looked fine. She was fine and he didn’t understand any of it but he would take it.

She pulled him along to the largest of the huts, dragging him inside as if they had every right to be there. In the dark he could only see shapes but there was no mistaking Meg’s laughter.

Men and women bustled about, serving food, passing drinks, swirling about a white haired, leathern man who sat amidst them with a fine, straight back and sharp, glittering eyes. Meg sat to his left amidst a circle of hardened braves, Bobby beside her with a look of frustrated resignation.  There was a pile of bones before them and neat little piles of perfectly whittled sticks that changed hands as one after the other passed around a cup that rattled with crudely fashioned dice.

“Boy!” Bobby spotted him first and tried to stand, and that’s when Dean saw the wrappings around his thigh and the tight grimace of pain. He ran to his side.

“Bobby! What did they do, are you ok?”

“This was from that rat bastard Alistair. I’ll be ok, no need to fuss like some nursemaid.” He pulled Dean in to sit by his side, giving the younger man’s arm a firm squeeze as his eyes went glassy in the firelight. “I knew you’d find us.”

“Double sixes boys! Pay up!” Meg chortled as the men around her groaned.

“I’ll give you two guesses who made a new best friend of ol’ Chief Seven Rivers over there. I have no idea what they’ve been playin’ but apparently the missus is a quick study and’s been cleanin’ ‘em out.”

“If I get an eight this next pass I think I get a pony!”

“Woman you get to be much more trouble I’ll just trade you in for that pony. Least that won’t talk back so much.”

“Careful now,” she laughed. “I got an offer on the table already. Reckon I’d make a right nice Indian queen.”

“Where’s Castiel?” Dean had been scanning the dark, and while he was bursting with curiosity and thrilled beyond measure that his friends appeared to be alright, none of that had done a thing to dampen the cold panic that had made a mess of his insides from the moment he’d heard what happened. And the way his friends got somber, the way Lisa gripped his hand and turned troubled eyes on him had him on his feet and ready to tear the whole village apart with his bare hands. The chief’s men sensed his mood and some of them stood as well, ready to take him down.

“Sit down son!” Bobby pulled him back down to his side. “He’s alive, no need to get yourself killed. He’s just….he’s a mite banged up is all.”

They told him everything, Alistair’s desire to use his relationship with the tribe to see them enslaved, or at the very least executed. How the chief had been looking for a way to rid himself of the evil man’s presence for some time and used the situation to clear his debt. They told him of the gauntlet and what Castiel had done for Bobby.

“Where is he? I’ve got to see him!”

Lisa took him, threaded her fingers through his as she wove through the village, finding the right door and ducking in.

_Castiel_.

The coil of dread released from his heart so quickly, so violently at the sight of the man’s gorgeous, shocked, perfect blue eyes, he wasn’t able to stop himself from falling to his knees beside the man with a sob. He reached for him, wanted to hold his face in his hands and say something, anything that let the preacher know that everything would be ok now that they were together. But he froze, remembering Lisa at the last moment and pulling back. Castiel looked pale, there were welts, gashes littered over his skin, across his beautiful face and covering the backs of his elegant hands, but many of them had been cleaned and dressed with sticky looking poultices that smelled strongly of herbs.

“Dean!” His voice rough, unsure.

“I’m here, Cas. I’m here to take you home.” Dean did his very best to hold back the tears, but his voice cracked sharply so he looked at Lisa as if to include her in the sentiment.

Lisa bent down to lift a sleeping infant from the crook of Castiel’s arm, and Dean was shocked that he hadn’t even noticed the thing snuggled there on the furs. After putting the child in its cradleboard, she pulled him aside but he never let his eyes leave the dark haired man.

“He can’t leave yet, Dean, he’s too weak. They said we were free to go but we didn’t want to leave him.”

“You leave soon or you stay. Storm coming.”

They both turned to see the young girl standing in the doorway, followed a moment later by a young man. Dean was good with faces but he didn’t need it this time, the huge scar bisecting the man’s body was familiar enough.

“You took care of him – _them_ …..this is your house?” The girl translated for the man but didn’t wait for his reply.

“This my brother place. Cas-tee-el bring his baby, he help Cas-tee-el. It is honor for him, Cas-tee-el is strong and now has honor with the people.”

“Thank you.”

The girl shrugged. “Not for you, but you stay here if you need. Storm is big, you stay here for long time if it come.”

Lisa blanched. “Dean, I can’t…Ben and-“

“Don’t worry Lis. I’ll figure it out.”

*

Dean was here.

Dean was here beside him and he wondered if this was some sort of delirium. Then Lisa sat beside him as well and he couldn’t say what he wanted to, couldn’t cry with relief and pull Dean down into his arms. Only stare at those green eyes and try as hard as he could to get his feelings through.

He loved him. Poor, sweet Anna was dead and the grief was just waiting in the shadows to shatter him, he knew that it would. People had died, he was going to go home and hear the names of which of his friends had been killed, he would be spending a lifetime standing beside graves. And Lisa and Ben would need Dean now more than ever to get through this, but at the end of it all, he loved him. Loved Dean Winchester with everything he had and there was no way to escape or turn away.

Dean put Bobby on his horse and Waneek’s brother loaned them two more for the women. He would act as guide to see them safely back to Lawrence, with Waneek joining him as interpreter. All told it was only a few days round trip but Dean gave the girl a message for Sam. With the damage to his own home and a storm coming, Sam should move his family in with Lisa until repairs were made. He also made sure she could remember the phrase ‘We’ll be home as soon as we can, bitch’, and sent them on their way.

He would stay with Castiel.

There was so much Castiel wanted to say, to _do_ , but now, even with the others gone, Dean kept his distance. He spent every moment of the next few days caring for Castiel, feeding him, cleaning his wounds, dressing them. But he never let his touch linger, or his gaze, took to sleeping on his own furs opposite the fire. Castiel didn’t know what to do, they hadn’t spoken since his wedding day, hadn’t cleared away the hurt between them. But after everything that had just happened, shouldn’t that fire have burned away the brush?

“Dean.”

Dean sat cross legged by the fire, honing his knife, he didn’t look up.

“Dean are you….” He was about to say _alright_ , but of course the man wasn’t alright. “I’m sorry you have to stay here with me. You should have just gone with Lisa, I would have been fine here on my own.”

Dean paused in his task, but didn’t look up.

“I-I bargained with God for you.” He tested the edge with his thumb, stared blankly at the welling red, let it drip down his finger. “I told him, if ya gotta take someone….take any of ‘em but Cas. Lisa ‘n Bobby, they mean _everything_ to me, but I woulda lived another day after puttin’ them in the ground if it meant you were still alive.” He huffed a bitter little laugh and sucked at his bleeding thumb.

“Anna’s dead.”

Dean finally looked at him, he hadn’t known.

“It hasn’t even hit me yet. I held her….what- what was left of her, but it doesn’t seem real.”

Dean crawled over to him, knelt beside him and brushed a gentle hand across his cheek. Castiel’s beard was growing in quick, and now he noticed how much Dean’s had too, how the firelight caught the red flecks in it and made him look younger while his eyes looked suddenly old. Castiel reached up to hold the man’s wrist.

“I don’t know where we stand Dean, after this. I don’t know how this can even work, but I love you.”

“Cas.” Dean choked out before rushing at his dry, cracked lips, peppering them with soft kisses as it was still too painful for Castiel to return the gesture properly. But it was enough, for now. They would figure it out.

The next day Waneek returned with her brother, the spare horses ladened down with supplies and a message from Sam.

“He say this for you so you not eat all our food. And family good and you be safe and you a jerk.”

The storm came that night, after a day of gunmetal skies and bitter, crackling wind. Waneek’s brother had given them his hut to use, as Castiel wasn’t in much state to move. Dean slept curled around him under the furs and the next morning the snow piled so high there was no real reason to leave them.

Dean was careful with him, so careful. Their kisses were light and soft, and Dean made a game of finding all the unbruised patches on Castiel’s skin where he could lick and mouth without causing him pain. By the end of the week Castiel could move about the hut on his own and Dean celebrated by taking the man in his mouth and sucking him down torturously slowly until Castiel sighed and shuttered out his release and fell asleep with his fingers tangled in Dean’s hair. The rest of the week the storm came and went, and when the village was finally able to poke their heads out to calm skies, they found themselves buried. It would be a very long while before Dean and Castiel found their way home again.

*

“I feel ridiculous.”

“Well you shouldn’t, I think I’ve come up with five new sins just from looking at you in that.”

Dean stood clad head to toe in soft tan buckskin, the breaches clinging to his muscular legs, the fringed tunic unlaced at the neck. On his feet were a pair of snug moccasins laced up to mid-calf, the only thing that held any adornment in the form of white beads along the borders. Castiel wore a similar outfit, gifts from the tribe to replace their own clothes that were in no way suited to this weather. Waneek ducked into the hut then, two huge piles of fur in her hands that turned out to be buffalo skin coats. The men pulled them on. Their girth was immediately doubled and Waneek burst out laughing.

“You see?”

“Don’t listen to her, how do you feel?” Castiel did his best not to laugh as well as Dean pouted.

“Warm.” He grumbled.

“You look like baby angry bear.” Waneek snickered and Castiel burst out laughing.

“Dean that should be your Indian name!” He turned to Waneek, his eyes tearing with laughter, shaking with fits of it every time he looked at the fluffy, petulant Dean trying to cross his arms in irritation but unable to do so in the coat. “How do you say that?”

“Don’t you _dare_ , don’t tell him that!” Dean lunged at Castiel and tried to cover his ears. “Give me a warrior name like Deadly Hawk of Justice!” This just made Castiel laugh harder, bent completely double and unable to speak.

“What is justice?”

“It’s…you know…when you try to make things right,” Dean fumbled. “Make it so’s things are the way they’re supposed to be.”

Castiel’s laughter had faded out but his eyes still sparkled as he looked at Dean.

“How do you tell someone you love them, in your language?” He asked the girl.

“Konoronhkwa.” She supplied. “But it not like brother or friend. It is love forever.”

Castiel tested it out, felt it tap along the tip of his tongue, watching Dean as he said it.

“That’s a mighty useful word,” Dean’s voice was huskier than usual. “Thank you.”

She left them then with Dean’s promise that he would help with repairs to the horse shelter later that day.

The heavy buffalo hides were removed, and the mood grew suddenly humid, Castiel’s hands shaking.

“Dean, I’ve been thinking.”

“Wait, don’t…don’t say nothin’ yet. I been thinking too. ‘Bout us and-“

In three short steps he had Castiel’s hands in his own. “Bobby’s got a friend, out towards Topeka, been askin’ around to see if there’s any takers on his 300 acre cattle ranch he got out there, wants to sell the whole thing, don’t know how many head he’s got but Bobby assured me he was on the level.”

“Dean-“

“Cas I know you just lost Anna and all, I know it, but this thing ‘tween us  ain’t gonna leave me and I don’t want to pretend anymore. Sammy been right, I can see Lisa and Ben cared for without….and I know you got your congregation an’ all to consider but….I’ll be out of the way if you need to set your life back to right in Lawrence or you could….could….”

“Dean.” The only thing he can think to do to silence Dean is to kiss him as slowly and thoroughly as he can, slide his tongue into Dean’s mouth and lick out the words until the man is pulling him in and moaning. And only when he has Dean properly flush lipped and pliant does he pull back.

“I’m leaving the church.”

“What? No, you can’t do-“

“I can, Dean, and I will. And before you start in on how a man like you is undeserving of something like that, you can stow it, cause I’ve been thinkin’ on this for longer’n I’ve known you but I just been too much of a coward to see it through.”

The light that breaks over Dean’s face leaves Castiel breathless. How was he allowed to be near someone this beautiful let alone be the one that made them this happy?

“So you could….would you want to stay with me? Supposin’ I can get things all worked out with this ranch?”

Castiel laughs, suddenly giddy. Two grown men in Indian garb, giggling like schoolboys, locked under a mountain of snow in the middle of nowhere and his life had never felt more alive at the prospect of freedom, real and true. It was utterly ridiculous and wonderful.

“I don’t know the first thing about raising cattle.”

“Oh, well in that case we’re gonna hafta find some other ways for you to earn your keep.”

Dean smiled wicked at him.

“So as the head of Winchester Ranch, I should warn you that I’m mighty particular, I don’t take on just anybody. Gotta see if you’d have a place in my employ.”

Castiel cocked an amused eyebrow at him. “That so? Well what is it yer lookin’ for in a cowboy Mr. Winchester?”

Dean takes one of Castiel’s hands in his own, running the pads of his thumbs over the smooth skin of his palm, never taking his eyes off Castiel’s face.

“See this here? Ain’t got a callous on you, I’ll bet you never held a rope a day in yer life. Let’s see…” And he takes the whole of one of those long fingers in his mouth, sucking and curling his tongue around it before moving on to the others, tracing wetness on his lips and smiling at the look this puts on Castiel’s face. “Shame to ruin hands this nice with work like that.”

“What- what should I do? I really do want this job Mr. Winchester.”

“Well,” Dean tugs at the laces of his own breaches. “Only real use I got for hands that soft is takin’ care of this.” He took Castiel by the wrist and pressed his hand into the impressive bulge straining to overcome the undone laces. “You know how to do work like that?”

Castiel can’t keep the smile off his face.

“I’m a real hard worker…could I show you?” His voice gone breathless as he gently squeezed until he got a throaty little noise he knew Dean hadn’t meant to make. It’s all the encouragement he needs. Castiel tugged the laces wider, yanking the breaches open until Dean spills out, thick and heavy in Castiel’s palm. He encircles the smooth, burning shaft, dragging his hand languidly up and down, a tease.  With his other hand he gives Dean’s balls a firm tug, liking the way it gets the man to buck up into his hand. He twists around the head, quick and light. “Like this?”

“Yeah that’s…that’s real good.” Dean licks his lips, remembering his part. “But I got- _ugh_ \- got other things need taking care of.”

“What other things Mr. Winchester?” Castiel pulls the most wide-eyed innocent look he’s got and is rewarded with the dark pall of lust that drops over Dean’s features. He loves getting Dean riled up like this, a bit of the hunter in him bleeding through.

“Well first,” his voice tight. “I need to see if you’re strong enough for the kind of labor I got in mind.”

His fingers trailed over the hem of Castiel’s tunic, sneaking beneath the soft leather to trace along his stomach and ribs. It made him smile to feel the muscles jump beneath this fingertips.

“Hmm…you certainly feel like you’re nice and fit, but I’ll just have to be sure.” With that he has the tunic up and over Castiel’s head in one swift move. The preacher stands there with a look of feigned innocence but the blush staining his cheeks is real and Dean’s delighted with how much their game is affecting the man. He runs his hands carefully over the heated flesh of his upper body, careful with the faded remains of his injuries, tracing the curves and feeling the firm give of muscles under his probing hands, taking his time to examine all of it while he watches Castiel’s breathing fall off pace. Without warning Dean brings a hand up to pinch and roll one pink nipple between his fingers, making Castiel gasp and arch into the sensation.

“W-What was that for?”

“Need to see how responsive you are darlin’,” He gives the other nipple the same treatment, plucking it smartly until Castiel is crying out and twisting handfuls of Dean’s clothing in his fists. “What about this?” And his mouth attaches to a soft stretch of Castiel’s neck, tongue laving down across his collarbone. He makes a point to hit all the spots he knows make Castiel come apart the quickest. “Mmmm, you’re doing so good.”

“T-Thank you Mr. Winchester.” He groans out, and Dean roughly palms the bulge in Castiel’s breaches.

“Now what’s this?” The mock sternness in his voice almost making Castiel laugh.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester, I can’t help it. When you….you…” The pressure of Dean’s hand increases until Castiel can’t help rutting into it, stuttering little snaps of his hips.

“Don’t be sorry darlin’, I like you like this. Now take off the rest, want to see all of you.”

The soft sheen of sweat glossing Castiel’s skin makes peeling out of the leather pants a bit more difficult and he ends up having to sit on the furs to get them past his ankles. He’s about to get up again when Dean stops him.

“On your hands and knees”

Quick to comply, Castiel waits while Dean circles him, his inspection causing goosebumps to prickle Castiel’s naked skin. With a soft thump, Dean’s tunic is thrown to the ground beside his hands, but Castiel can’t see him from this position.

“You look real good like this.” A firm hand runs down Castiel’s back and over the swell of his ass, kneading the flesh while the other grabs hold of his leaking cock. “But the real job’s gonna be seein’ if this pretty pink hole of yours can take my cock.”

Castiel whimpers when both thumbs begin to massage him in that sensitive spot, not quite spreading him. “Please.”

“Yeah, let’s see how good you work this perfect ass of yours on my dick. Now don’t move.”

He’s gone, but not long enough for Castiel to start squirming from his absence. There’s a slick sound, a sound he knows and one oiled finger is prodding him, teasing him open before sinking in. Castiel grunts low, it’s been a while but the tiniest hint of burn is a welcome relief, his body thrumming with desire for what comes next. Another finger pushes in and he thrusts back onto it, needing the stretch but impatient to have Dean’s cock filling him.

“So eager for it, that’s good. But you’re going to have to wait, I like this part.”

Castiel makes a peevish little growl that Dean punches into a keen when he hits the man’s prostrate. By the time Dean has four fingers thrusting into him Castiel’s arms have given out and his thighs are shaking. Then the fingers are gone and Dean is flipping him onto his back, looming over him as he slicks up his cock with oil. He pushes Castiel’s thighs up and apart before wasting no time gripping himself hard and pushing into that tight, wet heat.

“Shit look at you, just taking me like this.” He pulls out then slams back in, Castiel writhing and more than ready to take it a little rough. “God you’re fucking incredible, feel so good.”

“Dean! _Dean!_ ”

At this point neither of them is lucid enough to hold onto their character, so when Dean pulls Castiel’s legs over his shoulders and watches with wild hungry eyes the place where Castiel’s body is gripping him, sucking him down, there’s no joking when he growls. “Every day Cas, have you like this every fucking day.”

And Castiel has nothing to answer back with but the sounds being wrung from his body, hoping that they say clear enough the _yes finally_ that’s sounding in his head. His orgasm comes at him from below, lifting his whole body and spreading across his skin like brush fire.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Dean ruts into him hard and quick, his own release milked out of him sooner than he’d expected, spilling deep into Castiel’s body.

Sweaty, heaving and collapsed into each other, Dean tilts his head up to kiss Castiel. “You’re hired!” he jokes and they both dissolve into breathless, gleeful laughter.

Though Castiel is recovering well from his injuries, the activity still drains him thoroughly, so he lays boneless and sleepy on the furs while Dean gets him clean and arranged snug against his chest. The heavy weight of Dean’s arm holding him under the warm furs, his hazy bliss, pull him down into sleep almost immediately. So he couldn’t be totally sure he heard right what Dean whispered into his hair.

“Konoronhkwa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Aksotha- Grandmother


	12. Chapter 12

Dean and Castiel spend all of that winter with the Iroquois tribe. It was not a particularly harsh one, all told, though the snow never quite let up enough for safe travel. Or rather, there was always just enough of it for them to forego any serious attempts. Plans were set, the outline of their future together spelled out between them at night as they curled around one another. But there was the matter of setting their lives to right in Lawrence that needed attending, and no amount of certainty in each other made either man particularly look forward to what needed to be done when they returned.

Besides, it was nice here. Castiel had made an impression on them when he’d been made to run the gauntlet, and now these people that were once beating him and screaming for his blood smiled and offered him kind words and showed him the trick of their ways. They’d held Dean in a great deal more suspicion, their time with Alistair as their guest all too fresh in their minds. But he worked to prove himself, hunting, building, even playing with their children and laughing good naturedly when they beat him at their games. He didn’t need to wear his guns and didn’t need to feel so constantly alert like he did when he was sheriff. It was another world out here, secluded, difficult but satisfying to him in ways he hadn’t expected. Both men began to learn a few words of the language, but what surprised them both was Dean, and not Castiel, taking to it so quickly. He and Waneek’s brother even formed an odd sort of friendship, eyeing each other with constant misgiving but teaching each other the things they knew and bickering as they could over such things as the best way to prepare venison while Castiel and the women sat back and rolled their eyes. It was with his help that Dean built them their own hut, smaller than the other, but snug and secure. And they filled it with things that they’d made or hunted and traded for and before long it was more a home of their own than anything they’d ever had in civilization. Waking together in the mornings, going about the chores of the day, consorting with new friends who were too unaccustomed to the ways of white men to question their living arrangement. Nights gasping each other’s names and whispering promises in the dark because it was so warm here, warm and safe in the little burrow they’d carved for themselves out here in the cold open plains.

It was, without question, the happiest either man had ever been.

The spring came on fast, and with it their need to return. Not that they were being asked to leave, both of them providing another set of sturdy hands and never letting their presence become a burned to their hosts. But it was time, the sun rising one day and both of them looking at each other wordlessly with the same understanding.

Once again, Waneek and her brother led them home, both men taking but a few small reminders of their time with these people and leaving the rest to her family. They spent one last night on the plains, under the stars before riding out in the morning and making it to Lawrence a few hours later.

They said their goodbyes to the siblings at the outskirts of town, Castiel promising that someday he would visit. They watched the two ride off before turning toward home. They traveled the long way around, heading to Castiel’s house so that they could spend one last moment in quiet together before announcing their return to the town. Before Dean set off to end things with Lisa.

The house loomed ahead, but both men were so caught in eager conversation that neither of them noticed the smoke curling from the chimney until they were dismounting. They looked at each other, then at the yard, cleared and clean. The barn and its animals appeared cared for, Castiel’s two ornery chickens scratching in newly laid feed just outside. Maybe someone in town had seen to his homestead, kept it in ready for his return. And he was wondering at who this charitable soul might be as he and Dean climbed the steps when the front door was thrown open and his whole world stopped.

“Castiel!”

“ _Anna_.”

*

Dean didn’t remember how he’d made it back to his home, only that he was there, looking at it from a distance and trying to get hold of himself while his insides died.

She was alive. Red hair and striped dress and shocked blue eyes, standing in the doorway and taking away everything he wanted in life. But he couldn’t watch that, couldn’t watch Cas flounder in the face of this revelation. Couldn’t watch the moment he had to let Dean go. So Dean left.

Lisa and Jess ran out to meet him when he got close, Ben coming soon after from behind the house. He embraced them all and let himself be led indoors and fed and fretted over. Ben sat in his lap while he gave them the basic outline of his stay with the Iroquois tribe, thrilled with the bone handled knife his uncle had brought him. He held his niece for the first time and looked around, and nothing was familiar, though he knew every bit of this place by heart.

He should have given them a day, maybe more, but this task needed seeing to and tomorrow wouldn’t make things any easier.

He took Lisa outside for a walk. He told her what he’d meant to tell her. How it wasn’t fair to her to live life tied to a man like him, how she could live on in this home with his provision and Sam’s protection and his blessing to choose someone who could offer her love as well. And she didn’t say anything while he spoke, and didn’t seem angered or shocked, just listened till he’d said his piece then threaded her hand in his own.

“I know there’s someone else, Dean, known for some time. And I can’t say’s I mind, but I don’t want to know who. You been good to us, to that boy, and I wish you could stay for him, but I won’t make you. You’re a fine man, but after the way it was ‘tween us, I don’t see as I need another husband. But Ben needs his family and I expect you do too. So don’t disappear on him, can you promise me that? I got no fuss in me with giving you up, reckon whoever it is has a much better claim. Just….don’t let her take you from your family.”

He kissed her hand, returned to the house and packed his things. He hugged Ben and took the badge from the boy’s hand when he brought it, telling him he had one last job to do and asking him to look after his mother and Jess and baby Mary.

Sam was at the jailhouse, and Dean managed to slip in without anyone noticing him.  Their reunion was brief, seeing as soon as Dean told Sam his plans the younger man set about to stop him or come with. But something set hard in Dean’s features must have conveyed how futile it would be to dissuade him.

He didn’t say a word about Cas.

Sam hugged him tight, and Dean allowed it as both men knew this might be goodbye for a good long while. If Dean even managed to stay alive.

And that night Sam went back to Dean’s home, Lisa’s now, and said grace over supper and all of them sent an extra prayer to Heaven for Dean.

*

“You’re alive.”

It was she who spoke the words as they sat at the kitchen table staring at one another, both unsure of what to do.

By the time Castiel had managed to pull himself together, vision dimming and short of breath at the shock of her, Dean was already tearing off down the road, Castiel’s cries drown in the sound of the hoof beats. And he couldn’t go after the man, not with the puzzle of Anna standing there and demanding some sort of explanation.

“I’m alive. But so are you.” And she looked at him with an expression that was so….so very different than what one might expect from a woman whose husband had just been returned to her. It almost looked like grief. It looked very much like how Castiel felt.

“I thought you might be dead, I was sure of it, you and the others that were taken. It was Alistair, after all, and no one thought….”

“But I _saw_ you Anna, I…your body was…..I held you and you were wearing that blue dress and-“

She sobbed now, the grief pricked suddenly to the surface. “She loved that dress, she thought that it was lucky and we laughed how she might find her own husband at the party if she wore it.”

“Who?” But he already knew. There was only one other person in town with hair like hers.

“Esther! I was in the house, upstairs with the baby and I went to the window when I heard. And I saw her Castiel! She was running to the house and a man tried to grab her but she hit him and- and-“

Maybe he should hold her, hush her weeping with some comfort over her lost sister, but he hadn’t the strength for it and when she looked up with red rimmed eyes he knew she didn’t want it from him either.

“I’ve done a terrible thing.”

And he would have laughed at that, for if she only knew….

“Now Anna you mustn’t-“

“No. Let me say my piece. I will not lie to my- my husband and whatever you will do with me after that I will abide.” She moved to the window, and the action held more intention than just her unwillingness to look at him. She was searching for something.

“Esther…..was dead and Ma and Pa were….well you can imagine. We lost friends, too, we all lost a great deal. And he was so kind to us, to the family, even with his own brother killed. It brought us together some, but more than that, it made me realize what I’d been trying to forget. I….you’re a good man Castiel, better’n me. It were my Ma that wanted us to marry, even though she knew how I felt about Alphie. But you were a preacher and he was just a farm hand and…..”

She wiped away the silent tears, and Castiel went to her then, handed her a handkerchief and gave her a moment with a look of understanding.

“It was always the two of us, growing up, but I didn’t _know_ , I didn’t understand until I thought you were gone and he was here, getting me through things and-I-I _lay_ with him Castiel. Like I never did with you, but…”

He turned her by the shoulders and made her look into his eyes. “But you love him.”

She nodded, lip quivering and eyes wet. “I do.” She whispered. “I do, but I made my vow to you, so if you can forgive me….if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive what I’ve done I’ll be a good wife to you. I promise.”

“Anna.” And he kissed her forehead and smiled into it. They’d both been playing pretend. “I absolve you.”

“Of my sins?”

“Of our marriage. We were both of us looking to do what we thought was right for others and not ourselves. You _are_ a good woman Anna, I hold no blame against you. And if you love Alphie, if he can love you in return, then you have my blessing.”

“But my family-”

“Has no voice in the matter. All that matters is what you want.”

“I…” She looked at him unsure, unused to choosing for herself. “I want him.”

“Wait for me here, will you? I have something I need to do.”

*

It was May, or thereabouts, when Dean finally caught him. Run across state lines, tearing such a swath of righteous fury across the country that it was a wonder his own face never landed on a wanted sign. But it didn’t take long for word to spread far and wide what Dean Winchester was after. Near about every town had a message from one of the local marshals waitin’ for him, whatever word they’d found on the whereabouts of Alistair Jones. He never let the man rest, never let him gather men or fresh horses or supplies to give him lead enough to disappear. He was the wiliest bastard Dean ever hunted and any other man on earth would have cried surrender at being run down so hard, but Dean had some sense, something that showed itself in a hanging man made of twigs or a possum carved open for no reason other than sport that this man who was barely a man, liked it. Over the open fire, his horse run to ruin, he got the sense that he was being toyed with somehow, that Alistair might be watching, out there in the dark. That the man wanted to see how far Dean would go, what kind of death he could bring.

The homestead was in the middle of nowhere, farmland stretching on to the horizon. A boy stood out front, brushing down an old horse. Brushing and brushing and staring at Dean in silence with vacant eyes. Dean was ready to move on, nodded at the boy to offer no threat. But something was off. A scent on the breeze.

He rode past the home, through the field, finding a spot in the shade of some trees to tie up his horse and pull off his boots, slipping on the moccasins he’d kept all this time. They were better for hunting, he’d found. On silent feet he crept back, staying low until he was in view of the boy. He held up a finger to his lips and nodded at the house, slipping out his knife. The boy nodded once, small as could be, then again toward the side of the house. The scent was stronger here.

Dean slipped around the other side, crawling low on his belly till he could peek around the corner.

Alistair had the daughter by the hair, gun up under her chin as he pressed them both up against the back of the house. The mother knelt in the dirt beside the bloodied, lifeless body of her husband, tear stained face but silent as the grave for the man holding them captive. Alisatair had his back to Dean, looking through the back window, likely expecting the sheriff to come through the house if he stopped here at all.

The mother saw Dean, straightened, let loose a little sob to pull Alistair’s focus for one brief moment on herself and Dean took it. Padded up on silent feet and drew his blade across the man’s neck. There was no sound, only the hot gush of blood down his hand, the body dropping almost gently to the ground. Alistair wore a smile that matched the neat line of curling red encircling his throat, his eyes fixed wildly on Dean in a way that he looked still alive. But he wasn’t, Dean made sure of that with a few swift stabs to the man’s heart. Those ghastly eyes still looked at him, crazed with delight, dead and unseeing and terrible. And Dean took it in for a long, long while, convinced somehow that the man could not possibly be dead so quick and would rise up again somehow.

He helped the woman bury her man, but for Alistair he built a pyre and stood beside it all night while the body burned to ash. At dawn he trampled on the bones, crushing them to blackened splinters beneath his feet.

He should return home, the job was done. But the thought of seeing Castiel once more a husband slowed his progress. It was well into June by the time he arrived.

*

His homecoming this time was a much more celebrated affair. There were rounds of drinks which he welcomed and hands to shake and cheering all around that Alistair was dead and the elder Winchester returned to them whole.

Sam pulled him aside. He hadn’t known until Bobby made it back that they’d all thought Anna was dead, and with a winter holed up together he’d made a good enough guess as to what had gone on between the two men.

“It doesn’t matter now anyway, Sammy.”

“Well, if you’d stuck around for a _day_ , Dean and weren’t so hell bent on running from the situation by chasing after Alistair you would’a known that they ain’t married no more.”

“ _What_?!”

“Looks like Anna an’ the Mills’ farmhand got mighty close while yall were gone and he didn’t want to stand in the way. Told her folks that their marriage was never recognized in the eyes of God, which I can only guess what that means. And to top it all off, he up and married the two himself. Didn’t tell nobody till it was done, neither and it’s had the whole town buzzing nonstop.”

“I don’t understand, Cas is free?”

“Yeah Dean, free an’ gone. Rounded up Alphie and Meg as a witness and married them in the church probably before you’d even made it out of town. Then showed up to the house and you were gone.”

Dean felt sick. Fuck. _Fuck_! All this time, all this miserable time and Cas weren’t even married no more.

“Where is he?”

“Couldn’t say. You damn near broke his heart Dean, I thought the man was going to fall down dead on my porch when I told him. He rode off and I ain’t heard from him since.”

He felt like a moth caught in a lantern, batting about with no idea what to do, where to go. He went to Castiel’s house, empty and cold. He went to the Mills’, who pointed him in the direction of the newlyweds’ new home. They had nothing to go on either, Castiel hadn’t told them anything but good luck after the wedding.

Dean tore at his hair, pacing their yard until it hit him.

Meg was sitting, rocking on her porch when he arrived.

“’Bout time Winchester.”

“Do you know where he is?” He couldn’t be bothered hiding how desperate he was.

From a pocket in her skirts she pulled a sealed envelope, holding it back when he reached for it.

“Please don’t take this if you’re only out to cause him more pain. He deserves to be happy.”

“I know.”

It must have been enough.

It was a map, part of the Kansas territories with a circle drawn round one piece and a single word written there that set his heart on fire.

*

It took him two days make the trip that should have been three when he came upon the soft rolling land framed by a lazy stream and smudged across the hillsides with a decent sized herd of cattle. The ranch wasn’t too large, but it was well fashioned.

The sound of wood chopping echoed through the air, and Dean followed it, rode around to the far side of the ranch where Castiel stood swinging his axe, splitting logs and tossing them on a pile. He was half naked, rolling muscles glistening sweat, breathtakingly beautiful. In that moment he saw Dean and the look on his face….

Dean had never been one to believe in miracles, in acts of divine will, but he ran to Castiel who ran as well across the field, and when they collided, wrapped too tightly to kiss, he felt something, some ethereal spark buried in the passion he felt for this man. The world had burned away and here they stood together, free. And the improbability of it all left Dean giddy with the sense that prayers he’d only voiced in his heart had been answered.

“You’re here.”

“Never gonna leave you again, Cas.”

The sun alone, slipping from its peak, watched over them, burnished their figures gold while the wind took their words and held them safe in the wide open sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank all of you for reading! Your kudos and kind comments have been so encouraging and I hope to see you all again on my next fic!   
> Yippie-Ki-Yay sexy bitches!


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